


there are more things in heaven and earth, Jane, than dreamt of in your science

by notahotlibrarian



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Dragons, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Folklore, Gen, Mythology - Freeform, Seer, dark!Darcy, modern witches, short fic, women being friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:36:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notahotlibrarian/pseuds/notahotlibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you really think Thor is the only mythological being to walk this earth?</p>
<p>(All the different beings that Darcy could be.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. medusa

The alarms blared a warning of intrusion just as the first percussion grenade flew through the glass doors into the lab.  “Get to the safe room, Jane!” Darcy yelled as she flipped herself over and behind a lab table.

For once, Jane listened.  She dropped the tools she was holding and sprinted towards the safe room at the back of the lab.  Unfortunately, the percussion blast went off and stunned both women.  Jane landed behind the machine next to Darcy’s lab table, still at least ten feet away from the safe room.

A team of five operatives entered and scattered throughout the lab, looking for the two women.  “FRIDAY,” Darcy whispered, “seal the doors. Don’t let anyone in or out.”  The new AI let out a quiet chime in confirmation.  Darcy silently crawled over to Jane’s prone body.

Jane moaned quietly as Darcy reached her.  “Jane,” Darcy whispered. “Whatever happens next, stay back here and don’t look me in the eyes.”

“What?” Jane mumbled.  Darcy took off her oversized sweater and tucked it under Jane’s head.  “You have tattoos?” she asked confusedly, her voice getting louder.

Darcy hushed Jane as she glanced down at the snake tattoos that wrapped around both of her arms from shoulder to wrist.  “Not important, right now, Janey.  Right now I need you stay here and keep your eyes closed.  No matter what.  Can you promise me that?”

Jane looked up at Darcy’s solemn face and nodded slowly.  One of Darcy’s lenses on her glasses had been cracked in the blast, and behind it Jane would swear that her pupil looked yellow, not blue. “But what are you going to do?” Jane asked worriedly.

“What I do best,” Darcy replied simply as she pulled her hair down from the messy knot it was in on top of her head.  Wild curls floated around her face, and they seemed to move from their own kinetic energy.  “Now close your eyes, and don’t open them until I say to.”

Jane nodded and screwed her eyes tightly shut.  She felt Darcy tuck something narrow and plastic into her hands.  “Hold these for me,” she said, and Jane clutched the item tight in her palms.

* * *

  
When Darcy removed her glasses, giving them to Jane for safekeeping, her true form became unbound.  The curls that haloed around her face shifted, and Darcy smiled when she heard the familiar hiss that heralded her companions’ return.  

Darcy squatted in front of Jane and held her hands out in front of her.  The two snake tattoos that wrapped around her arms came to life, and a Caspian cobra and a Russell’s viper slithered from her wrists and shot out across the room towards the operatives.

Darcy then stood and stared unblinking at the operative stalking his way towards the women.  She could vaguely make out the HYDRA patch on his uniform.  Gunfire echoed across the lab as he shot towards her skull.

One of her companions swallowed the bullet, and Darcy spit it out on the floor.  “Foolish mortal,” she said, her voice deepening and rumbling across the space as she strode towards him.  “Snakes cannot harm me.”  A terrified look crossed the HYDRA operative’s face as he looked into Darcy’s yellow pupils.  His skin took on a grayish pallor that quickly spread as he was immobilized.  She smiled sharply at him before she turned to take on the next man who dared try to harm them.

* * *

Jane felt a gentle tug on her hands as Darcy took back whatever Jane was holding.  “You can open your eyes now, Jane,” Darcy said gently.

Cautiously, Jane opened her eyes to peer at her assistant.  Darcy’s hair streamed wildly around her face, but overall she seemed unharmed.  Her cracked glasses were perched crookedly on her nose, and Jane assumed that Darcy’s glasses were what she had been holding.  Darcy helped Jane to stand, and Jane noticed that Darcy’s arms were now unmarked.  “I thought you had tattoos?” she asked questioningly.

Darcy huffed out a laugh as she led Jane to a chair.  “Really? That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?” she asked as she jumped up to sit on the one not-overturned lab table.

Jane shrugged.  “Not the first time we’ve been attacked, probably not the last.”  Something brushed against Jane’s foot and she squealed, pulling her feet up into the chair.

A _giant fucking snake_ slithered across the floor, wrapping itself around the leg of the lab table and then sliding into Darcy’s lap.  Jane watched, horrified, as Darcy smiled, crooning to the snake as she ran gentle fingers over its scales.

“What the actual fuck?” Jane asked, dazed.

The snake rolled over in Darcy’s lap, exposing its yellow underbelly.  Darcy continued to scratch its scales, and Jane would swear the snake wriggled in happiness, like a dog would.

“This is Cas.  Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.  He knows better than to do something like that, don’t you?” she cooed more at the snake than Jane.

Jane watched, stunned, as the snake wrapped around Darcy’s arm. Its scales blended into her skin until the snake disappeared, and Darcy’s tattoo reappeared.

“Okay, but seriously,” Jane said, eyes wide.  “What the actual fuck?”

Darcy opened her mouth to explain, but at the moment the Avengers broke into the lab, weapons at the ready.  Darcy and Jane both turned to look at them, and that was when Jane noticed the _second_ giant snake in the lab.  This one was yellow and brown, and it coiled into an S-curve and raised its head at the incoming group.  A loud hiss reverberated through the lab, and the Avengers cohesively stopped in their tracks.  

Wanda bravely stepped forward, her fingers starting to glow faintly red, as Darcy quickly jumped off of the lab table.  “Bora! No ma’am!” she yelled.

The snake turned its head back towards Darcy.  Cowed, it slithered back towards Jane’s now-crouching assistant.  Jane watched, still stunned, as this snake also wrapped around Darcy’s other arm and blended into her skin.

* * *

 

Darcy cautiously stood up straight in front of the Avengers.  She could feel Bora and Cas vibrating under her skin, wanting to be released to protect her from what they perceived as a threat.  Darcy ran soothing fingers along her collarbones, over where their heads rested, in an effort to calm them.

“Lady Darcy,” Thor said, stepping forward.  “Is my Lady Jane safe?”

Darcy gave him a kind smile.  “Couple of bumps and bruises from when the grenade went off, but other than that she should be okay.”

Thor strode towards them, bypassing Darcy to check on Jane himself.  He stopped short, however, when he came face to face with one of the attackers.

Or rather, what used to be one of the attackers.

Five stone statues of men were placed haphazardly around the lab.  Darcy watched as the Avengers wandered among the lab, investigating their new decor.

Wanda placed a red hand against one of the statues.  She quickly gasped, snatching her hand back as if it had been burned, before turning fearful eyes towards Darcy.  “You did this?”

“Yes,” Darcy answered, her gaze never wavering.

“But how?” Steve asked, turning away from the statue he was investigating to stare at Darcy.

Darcy looked down at where the shield hung loosely from his fingertips.  “If I tell you, are you going to cut off my head and attach it to your shield?” she asked, a barely restrained shudder passing through her body as she gazed unflinchingly at the white star in its center.  Bora and Cas pushed against her skin, demanding release, but Darcy ignored them.

“What? No!” Steve exclaimed, his mouth twisted into an expression of disgust.

“I wouldn’t let him,” Bucky said menacingly from where he stood in Steve’s shadow.  

Darcy looked up from Steve’s shield to make eye contact with the Winter Soldier.  A spark of recognition flared in her as her eyes met his.   _He understands_ , she thought. _He understands what it is like to be made into a weapon. He understands what it is like to be made into a monster._

Darcy turned to look back at Steve.  “Very well,” she said, shrugging.  “There’s a box of mirrored sunglasses underneath my desk.  Everyone will need a pair.”

Darcy watched out of the corner of her eye as Natasha poked around under her desk until she found the box Darcy referred to.  Silently, she passed out sunglasses to everyone but Rhodey, who had flipped the visor on the War Machine helmet back down.  

Once everyone had a pair on, Darcy squatted back down, releasing Bora and Cas from her skin.  The two large snakes coiled around her feet as various Avengers gasped and took steps back from Darcy.

Darcy removed her glasses again, giving them to Bora to put in a safe place.  The snake slid towards the nearest lab table as Darcy stood and her true form was revealed.

* * *

Bucky watched from behind Steve as the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen - a woman he called friend, and wanted to call something more - transformed into a fearsome creature.  Snakes sprouted from her scalp, undulating constantly around her face.  Her eyes changed from an ocean blue to a venomous yellow-green.  The snakes that had been coiled around her feet rose up until Darcy could rest her palms atop their heads.

“D-Darcy,” Jane stuttered.  “You’re a monster?”

Darcy stared deep into Bucky’s eyes as she answered.  “I am what I was made to be,” she said, her voice echoing throughout the lab.  

Bucky nodded in understanding before stepping out from behind Steve. Without breaking eye contact with Darcy, he shot each of the five statues, shattering the stone into pieces.  A pleased smile crossed her face, and she tilted her head in approval.

A cacophony of voices broke out then, but Darcy and Bucky continued to look at each other.  Darcy raised a hand to her head, and then brought it back down with a slender tan and brown snake wrapped around her fingers and wrist. She held the hand with the snake out to Bucky.  Mesmerized, he raised his flesh and blood hand out to her.  The snake slithered from Darcy’s hand to his, wrapping around his arm before sinking into his skin and becoming a tattoo - much like the ones Darcy had recently worn.

“That is Cleo. She can lead you to an explanation,” Darcy said quietly.  She held out her hands, and her own to snakes slid back into her skin.  Bucky picked up her glasses from the lab table and held them out to her.  With a sad smile, she slid them back on, returning to the Darcy he was used to seeing.  

And amid the raised voices of Steve and his teammates, she walked out of the lab and disappeared.

* * *

Three weeks passed before Bucky figured out how to release Cleo from his skin.  Once she was free, she shot out from Bucky’s grasp and disappeared down the hall.  Curious, Bucky gave chase.

Cleo led him down the hall to Darcy’s room.  She slithered under the door as Bucky held his palm to the reader.  Once the door slid open, Bucky entered Darcy’s room.  No one had touched them since she had disappeared after the altercation in the lab, and a fine layer of dust rested over everything.

Distracted from his search for Cleo, Bucky took in the abandoned room.  There was the couch where they had watched so many documentaries together.  Dirty popcorn bowls still rested on the coffee table, along with Darcy’s laptop.  

He wandered through her apartment, noticing all the little details that he had missed before.  Darcy had framed a picture of them laughing together on the couch, and Bucky briefly wondered where she had gotten the photo before removing it from the frame and tucking it into his pocket.

He moved into the bedroom, where a floor-to-ceiling bookcase crammed full of books dominated one wall.  There, curled on top of a leather-bound volume, was Cleo.

Bucky removed the book - Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_ \- and flipped through the pages.  Tucked into Book IV was a thin folder.  Bucky glanced through it; it was mostly newspaper clippings, with a few police toxicology reports thrown in.  Curious, he set the book aside on the shelf, and curled up into a nearby overstuffed chair to read through the file.

Cleo curled up on the book and hissed at him to get his attention.  “Okay, I’ll read the book first,” he said, pulling the book and Cleo into his lap.  The snake slid up to curl around his shoulder as he started to read the story of Perseus.

"Oh, Darcy," he murmured after a little while.  "It wasn't your fault."  


	2. baba yaga (pt I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kinda grew from a little drabble to a huge story, so a second part will be coming in the next few days!

Grief can do terrible, terrible things to a person, and can make a person do terrible, terrible things.

Wanda knows this better than most.  For one so young, she has suffered much in her short life.  Grief is her most constant companion, after her brother.  She has also seen the grief in other’s minds, used it as a weapon against them.

Grief is what drives her to call on an old figure from the bedtime stories her mother told Wanda and Pietro when they were small children.

In the dead of the night, Wanda creeps into the locker room.  She settles, cross-legged, in front of the full length mirror.  Holding red-tipped fingers to the glass, she calls out a name.

_ Baba Yaga. _

In broken, weeping Sokovian, she tells the mirror the story of a brother and sister who are everything to each other.

_ Baba Yaga. _

She speaks of the gaping void in her chest that nothing can fill.  She speaks of the blank space in her mind where her twin used to reside.  She speaks of the overwhelming grief that numbs her bones.

_ Baba Yaga. _

The mirror ripples, like water, and Wanda fearfully pulls her hands back.  A hooded figure briefly appears in the mirror and nods before it shatters to pieces around Wanda.

Wanda tucks the smallest shard into her pocket before waving her hands and returning the mirror to how it was.  

* * *

Darcy is enjoying a burger at a roadside diner in Arizona when her Mark starts to itch.  She grunts around her mouthful of food and scratches at her hip.  As her fingers brush over the Mark, a broken-hearted plea echoes in her mind.

She sighs mournfully, looking at the half-eaten burger on her plate.  But Darcy knows that the longer she takes to answer a Summons, the worse the itch gets.  She signals to the waitress for a box and her check as her phone starts to ring.

Glancing at the caller ID, Darcy answers it with a smile.  “What’s up, Doc?”

Jane’s tinny voice echoes in her ear.  “I’ve got a problem.  Ian doesn’t have the security clearance to work at the facility I’m scheduled to work at next, but you do.  Can you come back for a bit? Please?”

The timing of Jane’s call and her Summons cannot be coincidental.  Wherever Jane is working next also lies whoever Summoned Darcy.  “Sure, Jane.  Text me directions and I can be there in a couple of days.”

“Thanks, Darce, you’re a lifesaver.”

“I know.  Can you make sure there’s a hookup for the trailer?”

Jane hums an agreement.  “Yeah, just text me and remind me about it in the morning.”

“‘Kay. See ya in a few days!” Darcy says before hanging up the phone.

* * *

 

Three days after she called upon Baba Yaga, a silver Airstream trailer appears in a clearing near the new Avengers facility.  The longer Wanda stares at it, the more its image seems to waver until Wanda is not sure whether it is a trailer and truck, or a hut made out of bones with chicken legs folded underneath it.

She shakes her head as if to clear it, and turns away from the window.

Later that day, Wanda spies two new women in the commissary being heartily embraced by Thor before joining him at his table.  Curious, she takes a seat at a nearby table.  A lazy frisson of power stretches from her, enabling her to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Lady Darcy, it is so good to see you again!” Thor says in his rumbling voice.  “But my Lady Doctor told me you were on a road trip?” he questions.

The curvier of the two women shrugs.  “When Jane summons me, I must answer,” she says jokingly, but something about the words tickle Wanda’s brain.  She files it away for later and tucks back into her food.

* * *

 

After a long day of safety briefings and tours around their new facility, Jane and Darcy are finally free.  Jane declares that she is too exhausted from all the bureaucracy to do any science, and that they will start fresh in the morning.  Darcy smiles to herself - it’s easy to see that Jane just wants to spend some time with Thor, but Darcy does not begrudge her that.  So she heads out towards her trailer, intending to spend some quality time with her own love, Netflix.

Just as she queues up the next episode of Lost Girl, a timid knocks sounds on her door.  Darcy sighs - she really needed some Kenzi to brighten up her day - but stands and answers the door anyway.

A young-looking woman with long brown hair and an intricate shawl draped across her shoulders is standing on Darcy’s steps.  “Baba Yaga?” she asks hesitantly, her voice a whisper.

“Come in, my child,” Darcy says gently.  “And please, call me Darcy.”

* * *

Darcy brews them both tea, and they settle in at her breakfast nook, each with a steaming mug wrapped in their hands.  She can feel the magic thrumming around them, anxious for a deal to be struck and a bond to be made.  Darcy, however, ignores it in favor of letting her Summoner become comfortable.

The young woman idly twists the many rings on her fingers.  Darcy quietly sips her tea.  She can feel the other woman’s anxiousness rising as the minutes pass, so finally Darcy breaks the silence.

“What is your name?” she asks the other woman.

“Wanda,” she replies shakily.

“Tell me about your brother, Wanda.”

It is like she has broken a dam as words pour out of the young woman’s mouth.  Wanda speaks for nearly an hour, telling Darcy her entire life story - which, until recently, had been her brother’s as well.

She tells the story of twins, a wide-eyed little girl and her fast-moving little brother.  How their father and mother loved them very much.  She talks about their Jewish father, loving and scholarly, who made latkes for the family every Saturday evening.  She talks about their Roma mother, who taught them the traditions of their old ways and told them fantastical stories as she tucked them into bed each and every night.

She talks about the bomb that landed in their home, and the three days of terror she and her brother spent curled together.  She talks about how little fear she had in those three days, because she had always known she would leave this world the same way she came into it - with her brother.

She talks about her years in foster care, and how the matrons had always tried to separate Wanda from her brother.  But however their efforts, the two always ended up in the same bed, fingers linked as one slept and the other kept an eye out.

She talks about the causes they supported, the revolution they became involved in.  She tells of how her brother always seemed able to fast-talk people around to their cause, and how he always protected his older sister from rioters who thought that revolution meant anarchy, and that her small stature meant easy pickings.

Darcy finds herself growing to like the man Wanda described.  He was not perfect - he was cocky, and arrogant, and a bit of a flirt, and Wanda did not try to lie about his flaws - but he was well-intentioned, and he loved his sister fiercely, just as she loved him.

Finally, Wanda’s voice grows hoarse and she brings her story to a close.  Darcy gulps down the last of her tea and idly swirls the cup around before peering into its depths.  She spots a closed box and a dog among the leaves, and smiles to herself.

“He sounds like a good man,” Darcy says to Wanda.

“He is-was,” she corrects herself.

“You do realize that even I cannot bring back the dead?” Darcy asks gently.  A crestfallen look crosses the younger woman’s face, but she nods her understanding.  “Fortunately for you, then, that he is not dead,” Darcy says, a benevolent smile on her face.

Wanda’s face lights up, and the strength of her joy makes the trailer rock briefly.  “So you can bring him back?” she asks excitedly.

Darcy nods.  “But there is a price,” she warns Wanda.

“Three tasks, is it not?” Wanda asks, her eyes screwed up in memory.  “‘Zat it what it was in my mother’s story about Vasilisa the Beautiful.”

“If that is the price you are willing to pay,” Darcy says, holding out a hand.  Wanda shakes it in agreement, and the magic that had been hovering around them finally settles.  Wanda’s eyes widen at the feel of it, but Darcy just grins, her true nature flashing for a moment before settling beneath her skin.

“Very well, we have reached an accord,” Darcy says formally.  “Now rest, and I shall give you your first task in the morning,” she says, herding the other woman towards the couch in her trailer.  Wanda complies easily, laying down on the couch.  Within moments, she is asleep.

Darcy retreats to her bedroom and settles cross-legged on her bed.  She retrieves a small hand mirror from a bedside table and stares deeply into it as her three borzoi curl around her.  день, the white one, and солнце, the larger red one, wrap around each of her sides, their long noses poking into her lap, while mischievous ночь, the dark runt of the litter, lolls on his back in front of her.

“You know you’re not supposed to be on the bed,” she chides them, and all three seem to give her unrepentant grins.  “Very well,” she says, rolling her eyes, “at least make yourself useful.”  She holds a finger out to ночь, and he bites down hard enough to draw blood.  Darcy uses her bloodstained fingertip to right a name on the mirror.

The mirror ripples, and the name disappears into a reflection that is not Darcy’s bedroom.  Instead, it is of a hospital room, and a silver-haired man rests on the bed.  The steady beep of a heart monitor echoes throughout the room, but other than that it is eerily silent.

A nurse comes in and checks the man’s vitals.  She makes notes on a tablet for a few moments, and then leaves the room.

Satisfied with what she has seen, Darcy lays the mirror face down on her nightstand.  She lays back on her bed and quickly falls into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Wanda is woken by something licking her palms.  It tickles, and she giggles in her half-awake state, pulling her hand up under her chin.    “ночь, stop!” Darcy’s voice rings out across the trailer.  Wanda opens her eyes to a thin, midnight black dog staring at her.  It gives an excited bark, licks her face, and bounds away.

“I’m so sorry,” Darcy says, rushing over from the kitchen area of the trailer to try and catch her misbehaving dog.  “ночь is the troublemaker of the three.”

“It’s okay, I like dogs,” Wanda says, laughing as she wipes her face with her shawl.

“Good,” Darcy says, giving her a smile.  “But don’t tell Clint they’re here, because he’ll spoil them rotten. It took me six months to retrain them, last time. Toast?” she asks, holding out a plate.

Wanda nods and takes the plate from her.  “Do you have any jam?” she asks quietly.

“What’s your favorite?” Darcy calls out as she returns to the kitchen.

“Apricot,” Wanda answers.  Darcy brings her the jar and a knife, and the two settle back into the alcove they were in last night to eat their toast.  They eat their breakfasts in a companionable silence, Darcy scrolling through something on her phone while Wanda pets the three dogs, who beg shamelessly for food.  Finally, Darcy sets aside the device.  “Shoo! Go make yourselves useful and find dinner,” she says to the dogs, waving her hand towards the door.  The black dog, ночь, jumps up on his hind legs to knock the door handle down, and they run out the door, barking joyfully.

“So,” Wanda says carefully, “what is my first task to be?”

Darcy looks at her, a calculating glint in her eyes.  “You must slay a beast and bring me back his heart.”  

Wanda’s brow furrows.  How is she ever to complete such a task? There are no beasts in this forest - just surveillance outposts and secondary training facilities.  But she nods her acquiescence, and slips out of the trailer to return to the base.

* * *

Wanda puzzles over the first task all morning and throughout lunch, but she is no closer to solving it as she heads towards afternoon training.  The Captain and the Widow are leading them through mock assault exercises using the holographic technology Stark built into the training room.

Today they are battling Ultron bots again.  Wanda halfheartedly shoots hex bolts at them, but she misses as many as she hits as her mind is focused on her first task, not the training challenge.

Suddenly, she halts in the middle of the battle.  Ultron - of course!  In her distraction, a bot ‘downs’ her, and an electric jolt travels through her body.

“You need to pull your head out of your ass and pay attention,” the Widow hisses at her in Russian.  As the holographs are shut down, the Widow stalks away and Vision floats over to help her up.

“Are you unharmed, Scarlet Witch?” he asks politely, the yellow gem in his forehead winking in the afternoon sun.

“I-I’m fine,” she stutters, a faint blush staining her cheeks as she takes his hand and stands.

Falcon joins them.  “We all understand if you need some time off to grieve,” he says quietly.

Wanda seizes the opportunity he has offered her.  “I-I think I do. For a few hours, at least,” she say shakily.  She quickly darts out of the training room and heads towards the labs.

* * *

Darcy is transcribing Jane’s latest notes into a word document when Wanda suddenly darts into their lab, an oil-stained box in her hands.  Jane is oblivious to her entrance, but Darcy looks up from the computer she is working on and gives the other a smile, arching an eyebrow at the box in her hands.

Wanda gives her a triumphant grin and walks over to set the box on Darcy’s desk.  “No, take it to the trailer,” Darcy says to Wanda.  “Then return here and I shall give you your second task.”

“What was that?” Jane calls out from where she is writing equations on several white boards, as Wanda darts back out of the room.

“One of the minions was dropping off paperwork,” Darcy lies.  Jane nods and resumes her work.


	3. baba yaga (pt II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell, this thing is turning into a beast (pun intended)! A part three will be written in the next few days!

While Jane squeaks away at the whiteboard, Darcy ponders what to do about Wanda’s other two tasks.  Tradition demanded that they be a challenge, of some sort, but Darcy hates having to abide by Tradition.  (That’s probably one of the many reasons her fellow Babas did not approve of her.)

Confident that something would come to her (it usually did), she resumes her typing.  She gets so in the groove of things that she doesn’t even notice Wanda’s return until she looks up to pop her neck and finds Wanda hovering at Jane’s shoulder as Jane writes out a terribly long mathematical equation in rather sloppy handwriting.

“No, no, no,” Wanda murmurs mostly to herself.  “The three should be carried there…”

Jane turns sharply and gives Wanda an incredulous look.  “Who are you?”

Wanda cows into her red leather jacket.  “Wanda Maximoff?” she says hesitantly.

Jane narrows her eyes at Wanda. “And you understand multiverse probability theory and the statistical analysis of convergence?”

“Some?” Jane makes a ‘go on’ motion with her hands, and Wanda speaks a bit more confidently.  “My father was a statistics professor at the Sokovian National University, and he published a few papers on the topic when I was young, I think? He used to teach it to me while writing his papers as a way of working out kinks. And I have always been good at mathematics, especially probability.”

Jane gapes at the younger woman, and Wanda shrinks back into her jacket.  “Are you telling me that your father was Dr. Ivan Maximoff, the leading scholar on multiverse probability theory, and that he taught it to you when you were a grade schooler?” Jane asks, her voice steadily rising in pitch and volume.

Wanda turns and gives Darcy a slightly terrified look. Darcy just shrugs at her - all this math talk is way over her head.  About the only kind of math she is remotely good at is fractions and ratios, and that’s only from all the potion brewing she has done in her life.

Wanda turns back to Jane.  “Yes?” she answers hesitantly.

“Come, come,” Jane says, eagerly taking Wanda by the arm and manhandling her to a nearby whiteboard.  “Take a look at this equation here. I keep getting base 12 answers, when it should be base 9 for Yggdrasil’s nine branches…” Darcy tunes them out as she goes back to working on Jane’s notes.

* * *

Jane eventually leaves the lab to go meet Thor for dinner, and Wanda and Darcy are left alone.

“Was that okay?” Wanda asks Darcy worriedly.  “I did not mean to intrude.”

Darcy waves her hand in a placating manner.  “No, no, that was perfect. Gave me inspiration for your second task.  I need you to be Jane’s assistant tomorrow so I can prepare for my end of the bargain.  I’m terrible at copying out all the equations, so if you could copy them all onto the smartboard tomorrow and then save it to our servers, that would be great.  Instructions are in my desk drawer.”

“But what about my training?” Wanda asks.  “The Widow makes me do extra exercises if I am late or miss training.”

“I’ll handle it,” Darcy says confidently.  “Now go grab some dinner. I have more work to do before I can leave here tonight.”

Darcy waits until Wanda leaves and is out of sight before pulling a mirrored compact out of her purse.  “Show me who is charge of training,” she sighs, fogging the glass with her breath.  The reflection changes to a view of the commissary, with two figures - a man and a woman - highlighted in gold.

Darcy taps a finger against her chin in thought.  “Show me connections,” she says, breathing against the mirror again.  

The view of the commissary zooms out, and a web of intricately colored lines weaves between all of the figures like a rainbow colored spider’s web.  Darcy looks for the midnight violet line she associates with mutual respect, and finally finds one that connects the Captain with a man she met the previous evening - the Falcon, or Sam Wilson, if her memory serves.

So she saves all of her work, shuts down her computer, locks down the lab for the night, and goes bird hunting.

* * *

“Hey, Sam right?” she says in a cheerful voice as she walks up next to where the man she’s looking for is sitting.  “Care if I join you?”

Mouth full, he gestures to the seat next to him while scooting over.  Darcy gives him a grateful smile and sits down beside him.  “So Thor tells me you have been teaching him about Midgardian music.” she says.  “If you must know, I am his supreme authority on all things Midgardian, and therefore must approve your suggestions,” she says in a faux-haughty voice.

He laughs, giving her a wide smile.  They discuss their favorite songs and artists as they eat, and Darcy even ends up making a few notes in her phone of songs to look up.

Darcy catches sight of Wanda, tucked away by herself in a far corner of the commissary.  “Man, she sure looks sad,” Darcy idly observes, loud enough for Sam to hear her but not so loud that it seems like she’s speaking directly to him.

“Who, Wanda?” he asks her, glancing in the same direction that Darcy is looking.

“Yeah.  Must be hard, losing her brother like that and then being pushed to train so hard and so long and then not really being allowed to grieve.  I mean, Jane hardly sees Thor, and they’re sharing quarters right now.  And he’s old hat at this stuff. Can’t imagine how late he’d be working if he didn’t already have a background in warfare.”  Darcy makes a big show of checking the time on her phone.  “Crap, I gotta go let the dogs out.  Thanks for music recs, dude, I’ll check ‘em out. Later!” she says, rushing away.  She’s planted the idea in his head, and if she used a bit of magic to make it stick, well, only she and Wanda will know.

As she passes Wanda on her way out, she gives the woman a sly wink.  Wanda gives her a shy smile in return, and a stray hope that she and Wanda could become friends after all this is over passes through her head.

* * *

When Darcy gets back to her trailer, her three dogs are lolling about in the grass in front of the trailer.  A dozen violet quail and a giant boar with three tusks are draped across the steps, and Darcy inspects them once she reaches the trailer.  “Did you guys go into the Otherworld forest to get these?” she asks the dogs.  “The Queen won’t be happy you went portal hopping again,” she says, shaking a finger at them. день and солнце, the two well-behaved dogs, tuck their noses under their paws in an act of shame.  But ночь, that brat, just shakes himself off and then licks her hand.

“Fine!” she says, laughing, as she wipes her hand on her jeans.  “We’ll have a cookout tomorrow. I’ll get Thor to run the spit.” The dogs all yip excitedly around her as she unlocks the door and lets them in.  With a wave of her hand, the game all disappears into her fridge, magically cleaned and dissected.

Darcy grabs one of the many hand mirrors she keeps stashed around the trailer once she enters the door.  ночь obligingly bites her finger again, and she scrawls Pietro’s name across the mirror again.

Again, the mirror ripples and shows her the same hospital room.  But this time, there are strange, ominous shadows lurking in the corners of the room that were not there the night before.

Darcy swears viciously in Russian, which sends the dogs into a frenzy.  They growl and snap at the shadows in the trailer, standing guard around her.  

Ignoring the dogs, Darcy stalks into her bedroom.  She pulls a brass-bound trunk out from underneath her bed.  From it, she removes what she calls her ‘work’ clothes: dragonshide boots, a worn-in pair of leather leggings, an embroidered purple tunic, an iron-reinforced leather vest, and a red scarf with a firebird printed on it.  

Laying the clothes on her bed, she then pulls out a gleaming silver sword, along with several daggers and a leather strap with spikes on it.  She checks the sharpness of each blade, and then sets them aside to dress.  Once kitted out, she straps each blade into its appropriate place, and then grabs the narrow full-length mirror off her wall and steps back into the living area of the trailer.

She whistles sharply, and the dogs gather around her.  Together, they stride out the trailer door and into the forest.

* * *

 

Once they reach the heart of the wooded area, Darcy carefully leans the mirror against a tree.  Turning her back momentarily on it, she faces her three dogs.  She carefully considers them before assigning them tasks.  “ночь, it’s your time.  Go gather intel in this realm.” The black borzoi turns a quick circle before sprinting off into the night.  “солнце, you guard the gate. Burn anyone other than me who tries to get through.  день, you’re with me.”  солнце takes up a guard position next to where Darcy has leaned the mirror, and день positions herself on Darcy’s left.

Darcy uses on of her knives to make a long, shallow cut across her palm.  Sheathing her knife, she presses her bloody palm against the mirror.  The hospital room appears again, and the shadows from earlier seem to be coalescing into an actual form.

день charges through the mirror-portal straight towards the shadow.  In the darkened hospital room, she seems to glow, and the shadows try to avoid her light.

“Got a taste of his supercharged blood and couldn’t let it go, could you?” Darcy asks the shadow.  It hisses at her, and a tendril lances out at her.  Darcy is prepared for the attack, though, and slashes at it with her sword.

Darcy slowly positions herself between the shadow and the prone figure of Pietro, while день stalks counterclockwise to the back of the shadow.  The shadow focuses on Darcy, continually striking her with shadowy arms that Darcy easily parries with her sword.

Once she is close enough to touch Pietro, Darcy yells “Now, день!” and turns to cover the comatose man’s face.  She can feel the shadow advancing on them, but she can also feel the midday warmth that signifies день in full glow.  In a matter of seconds, it is as bright as the middle of the afternoon in the hospital room.  The shadow disintegrates in the daylight.

Darcy sits up from where she had covered Pietro and slumps on the bed.  день trots over to Darcy.  “No wonder _vampir_ rarely live past their 40-day transition period, if they’re that stupid,” she says to the dog as she scratches behind день’s ears.

“Are you an angel?” a hoarse voice asks behind her.   Darcy stiffens, hands still buried in день’s fur, and looks back over her shoulder.  Pietro has managed to prop himself up on his elbows, and he is staring at her as if she was the most miraculous thing he’d ever seen.  

She snorts. “Not hardly,” she scoffs, rising from his bed to turn and face him.

“Then who are you?” he asks her in Sokovian.

Darcy gives a smile that is full of too-sharp teeth.  “Baba Yaga,” she answers, and his eyes go wide in fear.

“Are you going to eat me?” he asks, his voice childlike in wonder.

“Have you been a bad boy?” she asks in Sokovian, her voice gruff.

His face slowly shifts from childlike wonder to something much more mischievous and adult-like.  “Terribly,” he purrs, smirking at her.

Darcy steps back towards his bed and leans over him to whisper in his ear, giving him a prime view down her top.  As his eyes wander, she strokes a soft hand down his thinned frame.  “First we must fatten you up. I like my boys with meat on their bones,” she says.  He brings his gaze up to hers, and Darcy stares into his deep brown eyes, so much like his sister’s.

The moment is fraught with tension, and Darcy wants to stretch it out as much as she can to see where it goes.  But before she can, the bathroom door slams open and a second shadow- _vampir_ comes barrelling out.  It stabs her in the kidney, and Darcy slams to the floor.

день attacks it, but it flings her back against the wall.  Darcy raises her hands in an attempt to use magic, but the pain is too intense.  She feels a cool touch against the small of her back and seconds later, the shadow disintegrates.  

Moments later, Pietro sets down on the bed and passes back her knife.  His skin is an ashy gray, and Darcy instinctively knows that he has reopened his injuries while saving their lives.

He collapses back into a prone position, and Darcy manages to twist around so that she faces him.  Her hands take on a golden glow, and healing magic slowly courses through his body.

His cool fingers stroke her cheek gently in gratitude.  “Rest,” she says, and she laces the command with her last bit of magic so that he instantly goes to sleep.  Hopefully he remembers everything as an odd coma-dream.

день whines in her ear as Darcy passes out.


	4. baba yaga (pt III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for waiting so patiently for this chapter. I got a new job, and I moved, and then I didn't have internet for a month. But here it is, the next installment of the baba yaga 'verse. There will be one more chapter where Darcy holds up her end of the bargain with Wanda.
> 
> Enjoy!

Pietro sleeps on, unaware of Darcy slowly bleeding out at his feet. день latches on to the shoulder of Darcy’s vest with her too-sharp teeth and slowly drags her Baba through the mirror-portal. Once they pass through, the mirror shatters.

Once she reaches the forest next to the training facility, she lets out a long, mournful howl. It reverberates through the trees and causes the nearby wildlife to scatter frantically. Within moments, her littermates surround them. солнце and ночь share a look with день and then the three turn and race through the forest to the training facility.

* * *

 

A cold nose presses against Wanda’s hand, and she blinks open her eyes. In the darkness of her room, Wanda can barely make out the midnight black sheen of one of Darcy’s borzoi. He tugs on sheets, pulling Wanda off of her mattress. “What is the matter, little one?” Wanda asks the dog. He barks sharply at her and then picks up her boots in his teeth and brings them to her. The dog circles nervously around Wanda’s feet as she tugs on the offered boots. As soon as her boots are on, the dog is tugging on the hem of her nightshirt, pulling her out the door. Wanda barely has time to grab her leather jacket before they are off, sprinting through the silent halls of the training facility.

* * *

 

Thor and Jane were wrapped around each other, comfortably asleep, when a furry body dove into bed between them. “день!” Jane exclaims as the white borzoi wiggles between them, licking both their faces. “What are you doing in here?” Thor sits up in the bed, and the borzoi turns to face him. The two stare at each other for a moment, and then they are both jumping out of the bed. “Darcy is injured,” Thor says while he tugs on a pair of sweats. день brings one of Thor’s oversized flannel shirts to Jane, who hurriedly shoves her arms into it and haphazardly buttons it up. “What happened?” she asks Thor worriedly. “I do not know, but the dogs are gathering help. Go back to sleep, my love,” he says softly to Jane. “Like hell,” Jane spits out at him as she shoves her feet into her wellies. Thor smiles at her, daylight-bright in the darkness of the room. “Very well,” he says, taking her hand as they race down the hall after день.

* * *

 

Sam wakes from an odd dream of chasing a phoenix to hear an ominous growl in his room. At first, he thinks he is still dreaming, but his eyes soon make out a slender red dog at the foot of his bed. “The hell?” he mumbles. The dog barks loudly at him, and then grabs the blankets in his teeth and viciously rips them off the bed. Sam shivers as he is exposed to the cool night air. The dog, who has stopped growling at him now that he is awake, brings Sam an old Army sweatshirt. Sam shrugs it on, and by the time it is over his head, the dog is back with his running shoes. Sam complacently laces them up and stands. The dog butts his head against Sam’s backside, forcing Sam to stumble forward onto his door. Sam turns and looks at the dog. “You need my help or something?” he asks the dog. The dog gives a commanding bark, so Sam shrugs and opens door. He follows the strange dog into the night.

* * *

 

When Darcy comes to, she is laying on the couch in her trailer. Her head is in Jane’s lap, and Jane is pressing a cool washcloth to Darcy’s forehead. Wanda is standing over her, eyes glowing red, while Thor and Sam Wilson hover behind her. The dogs are guarding the door, preventing anyone from leaving.

She struggles to sit up, and Jane pushes her back down. “Stop,” Jane says forcefully. “You are bleeding badly.”

“I’ll heal,” Darcy coughs out. “It’s the poison we’ve got to get out.” Frantic voices and barks surround her, and Darcy whistles sharply to get their attention. “Wanda, use magic to burn the poison out of my bloodstream. Thor, you’ll have to feed her some extra power. I’m assuming Lady Frigga showed you how?” At Thor’s nod, she continues. “Once that’s done, Sam, you stitch me up. Use the unicorn hair and the iron needle in the left-hand drawer. Jane, you’ll have to hold me down.”

Jane helps Darcy roll onto her side, exposing the wounds on her hip. Jane clamps her arms around Darcy’s ribcage as Wanda cautiously kneels over her, Thor’s hand on her shoulder. A white-hot pain shoots through Darcy’s body and she jerks against Jane’s arms before passing out again.

 

 

When Darcy comes to for the second time, only Wanda and the dogs are in her trailer. “I sent them all back to their rooms,” Wanda explains.

“And they went?” Darcy asks incredulously as Wanda helps her to sit up.

“I did not give them an option,” Wanda says quietly.

“They will not like that, once they realize what you’ve done,” Darcy warns her.

Wanda gives her a resigned smile. “They do not like me now, but I am still here. One more offense will make no difference in the long run.”

Darcy reaches out and covers one of Wanda’s hands with her own. “There are always other options,” she says, giving Wanda’s hand a squeeze. Wanda gives her a shaky smile. “Now,” Darcy says, leaning back against the couch cushions, “don’t you have another task to complete?”

“Oh! Jane!”

Darcy smiles and makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Go. Do math. Change the world.”

* * *

 

When Wanda walks through the doors to Jane’s lab, Jane chucks a dry erase marker at her. Wanda startles, but manages to fumble a catch. “Can you finish that equation?” Jane calls out from behind a computer monitor.

Wanda looks at the whiteboard and smiles. “Of course. Anything else, Dr. Foster?”

“How’s Darcy?” Jane asks, and Wanda can feel the concern radiating out of her.

“She is fine. Resting in her trailer,” Wanda says over the squeak of her marker.

“Good. And call me Jane,” the scientist says. Wanda can barely make out the hint of friendship forming in Jane’s mind before it refocuses on stars and wormholes, and she blushes happily.

 

 

Darcy takes a brief nap on her couch after Wanda leaves. The dogs wake her mid-morning, and she stretches complacently. The wound in her side is a bare twinge as she pads silently through her trailer.

She shucks her bloodied clothes into the hamper and takes a long shower. Steam curls around her, and Darcy can make out faint images in the mist - a Maltese cross, the letter P, a snake. She notes the signs and mentally changes her list of errands for the day. Sighing, the snaps her fingers and magically dresses herself. (It may be a waste of power, but she has too much to do today to waste time on blow drying her hair.)

Being able to travel via mirror makes Darcy’s errands that much easier. She leaves her trailer and steps into a tiny bathroom in a bakery in New Orleans. She buys a fresh beignet before walking a few blocks to one of her contacts. They slyly exchange items - Darcy’s envelope of cash for Antoine’s brown paper bag - and then Darcy idles down the road. She ducks into a clothing store and leaves New Orleans via the dressing room mirror.

Once Darcy has returned to her trailer, she calls Thor. “Hey big guy!”

“Lady Darcy! I trust you have made a speedy recovery?”

“Always do. But I need a favor from you. The dogs brought back some Otherworld game - want to fix it up for me?”

“Shall I prepare a feast for us?” Thor asks excitedly.

“Knock yourself out. I’m sure the fridge’ll be stocked with whatever you need.”

“May I invite my teammates?” Thor asks politely.

“If there’s enough food,” Darcy offers. It’s not that she doesn’t want to meet the Avengers, but she’d rather it not be in her personal space. That many people who know that there are strange things out in the world may notice that she is one of those strange things.

Darcy’s phone chimes with an incoming text, so she hangs up on Thor and opens the message.

**Jane:: Wanda’s math skills > Darcy’s math skills **

Darcy quickly taps out a reply.

**Darcy:: Baby’s math skills > Darcy’s math skills**  
****Jane:: lol yes  
Jane:: OMG  
**Jane:: *hearteyes***  
**Darcy:: WHAT**  
**Jane:: thor just came by with his robot child**  
**Darcy:: you mean Vision? He’s cool, but not *hearteyes***  
**Jane:: yes not the point**  
**Jane:: ANYWAY**  
**Jane:: Vision greeted Wanda in whatever her language is**  
**Jane:: Wanda is straight up blushing**  
**Darcy:: OMG does she have a crush?!?! *hearteyes***

Darcy pauses in her text conversation with Jane to plot for a moment. Jane may have given her inspiration for the third task…

 **Jane:: i think so**  
**Jane:: SO CUTE**  
**Darcy:: wait**  
**Darcy:: if Vision is Thor’s robot child, does that make him your stepchild?**  
**Jane:: only if he doesn’t call me mom**  
**Jane:: or stepmonster**  
**Darcy:: what if he and Wanda get married? she could be your DAUGHTER IN LAW**  
**Jane:: stop**  
**Darcy:: AND IF THEY HAD BABIES YOU’D BE A GRANDMA**  
**Jane:: STOP**  
**Darcy:: ngl they’d have some kick ass babies**  
**Darcy:: ROBOT BABIES**  
**Jane:: STOPPPPPPPPPPPPP**

Smiling to herself, Darcy pulls out potion ingredients from her cabinets. She whistles a Russian folk song while she dices herbs. Once that is done, Darcy pulls a large stone mortar and pestle out from underneath her sink. Still whistling, she crushes the herbs together. She then drizzles in a bit of honey, until the powder becomes a paste. She scrapes her mixture into a small glass vial and tucks it into her pocket for later.

A loud knock echoes through her trailer, and the dogs all bark and jump at the door. ночь jumps up and releases the door handle, and Thor’s voice greets the dogs. “Hello, riders!” he laughs out, petting each of the borzoi.

Darcy squeezes past the dogs to give Thor a hug. “Knock yourself out, princeling. I’m going to go check on Jane and Wanda,” she says, heading towards the door. “And don’t feed the dogs too much!” she adds as she leaves.

 

 

When Darcy gets to the lab, Wanda is making one of the machines hover in midair so Jane can work on the underside of it. Darcy, fearing that any surprising noises might make Wanda drop the machine and crush Jane, wisely stays quiet and settles into one of the desk chairs. She pulls up the files Wanda was supposed to work on, checking them for accuracy and clarity. A feeling of rightness settles around her, and she knows that Wanda has successfully completely her second task.

Jane finishes whatever it is she is doing, and Wanda carefully lowers the machine back to the floor. Jane gets up from the floor and bumps shoulders with Wanda, talking excitedly about string theory and some other math terms Darcy doesn’t understand.

“Hey boss. Just came to tell you that Thor is cooking out for us tonight at my trailer,” Darcy says once Jane has noticed her. “You’re both invited.”

“Ooh is he making those quail kebob thingies again?” Jane asks excitedly.

“I think so.”

“Are we inviting anyone else?” Jane asks Darcy cautiously. Jane understands Darcy’s need for privacy, and has always been good about asking where Darcy’s limits were.

Darcy shrugs. “We should at least invite your new stepchild,” she says teasingly. Jane groans dramatically as Wanda watches her with a slight smile on her face. “You’ll see Vision at training later, right, Wanda?” Darcy asks, keeping her voice carefully casual. Wanda carefully nods. “Good. You should invite him to join us,” Darcy says, lacing her voice with just enough power that Wanda will know that this is her third task.

Wanda blushes, but she nods her understanding. “Okay, I will. And speaking of training, I must fly,” she says, glancing at the clock. Giving the older two women a cheeky grin, she hovers slightly off the floor before zooming away.

Darcy narrows her eyes at where Wanda was. Her grin looked familiar, and she struggles for a moment to place it.

It was the same grin Pietro had given her when he flirted with her.


	5. baba yaga (pt IV)

Darcy returns to her trailer to find Thor in full grillmaster mode.  He’s whistling as he turns the boar on a makeshift spit, and her dogs all hover around him, begging for scraps.  

A few hours later, Jane arrives, bringing Dr. Cho from Bio Lab 3 with her.  “That’s Vision’s other mom,” Jane whispers in Darcy’s ear as Dr. Cho and Thor visit in Korean.  Darcy giggles as she prepares some extra veggies to throw on the grill.  Jane pulls two beers out of a nearby cooler and trades one with Darcy for a plate of food for the grill.  The two women clink bottles, and then Jane joins Thor and Dr. Cho at the grill.

A few minutes later, Wanda and Vision come floating up to the trailer.  Vision’s hand is hovering at Wanda’s elbow as she wobbles, trying to maintain a steady keel as she levitates.  She smiles at him gratefully, and Darcy can see the faint blush staining her cheeks.

As they cross the threshold to Darcy’s yard, she feels the magic settling around her at a third task completed.  A sense of obligation tickles at the base of her skull.  Darcy knows that the pressure will only build until she brings Pietro back, but for now it’s bearable.

A little while later, Sam comes strolling around the corner with Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff, and Colonel Rhodes.  “How’s your side?” he asks Darcy as a greeting.

She lifts the hem of her shirt, revealing the faint pink lines where this morning there were deep gouges.  “Nearly good as new,” Darcy says.  “By the way, you do the smallest and neatest stitches I have ever seen.”

Sam gives her an aw-shucks smile.  “Well, if you’re gonna do something, do it well, ya know?”

Darcy nods.  “Yeah, I do.  Grab a seat,” she says, motioning to the lawn chairs behind her.  “Beer’s in the cooler and the food’s almost ready.”

Captain Rogers joins Darcy and Sam.  “Thanks for letting us join, Miss Lewis,” he says politely.

“Not a problem!” she graciously replies.  “I have plenty of food.  And please, call me Darcy.”

“Steve,” he offers as Sam passes him a beer.

Agent Romanoff and Colonel Rhodes offer their greetings as well.  The red headed woman watches Darcy warily, as if she knows the truth of what Darcy is.  As the men walk away, Darcy murmurs something in Russian.  Agent Romanoff gives her a calculating look before nodding slowly.  Darcy smiles, too full of sharp teeth, and the other women stiffens before hurrying away.

 

* * *

 

As Thor and Steve are removing the boar from the spit, Darcy motions to Wanda to join her in the trailer.  “And now it’s time for me to hold up my end of the bargain,” Darcy says once they are out of earshot of the others.

Wanda smiles ecstatically at Darcy, and even gives her a brief hug.  “What do we need to do?”

“We need to go to the mirror that you used to first call for me.  After that, the rest is up to me.”

“It was the large mirror in the locker room in basement sub-level 4.” Wanda supplies.  

Darcy nods, and taps the large mirror in her living room four times.  Their reflections waver, and the scene changes to bland lockers and tile.  “This look right?”  Wanda nods, so Darcy grabs her hand and pulls her into the mirror.

The two women stumble into the locker room.  Darcy waves her hands, and the reflection of her trailer dissipates, leaving only their own reflections in the locker room mirror.  She pulls a dry erase marker from her pocket and starts to write a series of runes around the mirror border.  When she reaches the bottom left corner, she stops and turns to Wanda.  “There’s a piece missing,” Darcy says quizzically.

“Oh!” Wanda exclaims.  “I repaired the mirror when it shattered after I called for you, but I kept this piece for some reason,” she replies, pulling a mirror shard from the pocket of her jacket.

“That was actually pretty smart,” Darcy says as she takes the shard and fits it into place.  “Some of the...not so nice entities that can travel via mirror would’ve tracked the magic you generated calling me to try and find you.  Breaking the mirror breaks the connection,” Darcy explains as she finishes up the runes.  

The mirror glows, silver bright, and the two women shade their eyes.  A shadowy form appears in the glow.  “I was wondering when you would be back,” it says in faintly accented English.  The glow recedes, and Pietro steps through the mirror.

Wanda squeals and jumps on her brother, wrapping him in a tight embrace.  He returns it, lifting her up off the ground and spinning her around as she rambles in excited Sokovian.

Darcy coughs quietly, interrupting their reunion.  Once Pietro and Wanda have turned to face her - Wanda tucked into Pietro’s side - Darcy pulls out the vial of potion she made that morning and passes it to Pietro.  “Take a spoonful every day until it is gone.  It’ll finish up your healing,” she instructs him.  “It’ll taste like shit, but it’s worth it,” she adds with an apologetic smile.

He takes the vial, dropping it into his pocket.  “Or what, you’ll eat me?” he asks with a naughty grin.

Darcy arches an eyebrow at him.  “You would be so lucky,” she purrs.

Wanda rolls her eyes and groans dramatically.  “Don’t we have a cookout to be at?” she asks.  “And don’t flirt with my friends,” she tells Pietro, elbowing his ribs.

He protests, and the two tease each other in Sokovian as if they’ve never been parted.   Darcy smiles, and steps around them to knock on the mirror.  It ripples, and the inside of her trailer appears.  “Shall we?”

 

* * *

 

Pietro’s return is met with happiness all around, and everyone ends up staying until the wee hours of the morning.  Finally, around two in the morning, Darcy kicks everyone out.  Mirror magic, especially moving other people around, is incredibly draining, and all she wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep for at least twelve hours.

Once everyone has left, Darcy waves a hand idly and the mess cleans itself up.  Yawning, she climbs the steps to her trailer, the dogs lazily following at her heels.  She strips as she stumbles to her room, leaving a messing trail of clothes and knives.

Before she can faceplant into her bed, though, a quiet knock sounds at her door.  Grumbling to herself, she slips on a kimono and stumbles through her pile of clothes in the living room floor.  “What?” she growls as she jerks the door open.

Pietro is leaning lazily against her trailer.  “So I was always told that Baba Yaga was this hideous old hag with long teeth and a crooked nose,” he says idly as he gives her a slow head-to-toe look.

Darcy smiles sharply at him.  “If that’s what you’re into, I guess…” she says, shifting her form to match those in all the old stories.  She gives herself a humpback, scraggly hair, too long teeth and a beaked nose that would make the Wicked Witch of the West jealous.

Pietro shudders.  “I much prefer the other version,” he said, smiling at her.  

Darcy shifts back into her normal guise and intends to smile seductively at him, but a huge yawn splits her face.  “Sorry,” she says, “but can we resume our flirting tomorrow?  Saving your admittedly fine ass kinda wore me out.”

Pietro echoes her yawn.  “Okay,” he agrees.  “But can I hide out here for a moment? Apparently my sister and Vision are ‘talking’,” he says, making a disgusted face.

Darcy motions him in.  “Oh so it’s okay for you to flirt but not her?” she teases him.

He sprawls out on her couch.  “Yes,” he says smugly.  

Darcy rolls her eyes at him.  “Well, you can crash here if you want,” she offers.

Pietro eyes her small couch questioningly.  “I do not think I will fit on this,” he says.

Darcy shrugs.  “Wasn’t gonna make you sleep on the couch,” she replies quietly.  His eyes light up, and Darcy holds up a finger to stop his train of thought.  “Sleep only, in the literal sense of the word.  No funny business.”

Darcy motions for Pietro to follow her back to the bedroom.  When they enter, all three dogs look up from where they are sprawled on the bed.  In unison, they growl at Pietro.  Darcy snaps her fingers at them, and they all jump off the bed to circle around Pietro.  

“Pietro, my Riders.  Riders, Pietro.  Play nice,” she admonishes as she disappears behind a carved screen in the corner to change into her nightshirt.

Hesitantly, Pietro crouches down to pet the three dogs.  солнце, the red one, continues to growl at him, but день the white one flops down contentedly on his foot and ночь the black one butts his head against Pietro’s hand, demanding to be scratched.  Pietro laughs delightedly and obliges ночь with one hand while the other hand scratches день’s belly.  “Wanda and I always wanted a dog,” he tells Darcy.  “Our apartment building didn’t allow it, though,” he says sadly.

Darcy steps out from behind her screen to see солнце, her cranky dog, lick Pietro’s face.  солнце likes very few people, and she smiles as she joins them, giving солнце an extra scratch behind the ears.  

Pietro looks up at her from where he is kneeling with the dogs and gives her a gentle smile, followed by another great cracking yawn.  Darcy tugs him up and manhandles him into the bed.  “Sleep,” she says, brushing a soft kiss against his forehead as she climbs into bed and lies down next to him.

Almost instantaneously, Pietro rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, sound asleep.  Darcy curls up against his back, and in his sleep he grabs her hand and tucks it against his chest.  It does not take long until she joins him in slumber.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Pietro wakes up in the room Wanda had said was his.  The faint memory of another body pressed against his plays in his mind as he stretches underneath the sheet.  He turns his head, and sees a note laying on the other pillow.

_ Called away on business, but I’ll be back soon to resume flirting.  Watch солнце while I’m gone? _

_\-- Darcy BY_

There is a bright red lip print at the bottom, and Pietro smiles to himself.  A dog’s whine interrupts his thoughts, and Pietro sits up to see the red borzoi sitting at the side of his bed, Darcy’s vial in his mouth.  Pietro thanks him and scratches behind his ear.

Baba Yaga, the Riders...Pietro always knew there was a reason why their mother insisted they learn the old stories.  He never expected that the reason be so pretty...


	6. dragon (pt I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and to no one's surprise, this one ALSO ended up being longer than I intended. It's also a bit crack-y at the beginning, to which I offer no apologies because I think it's hilarious.

The latest call to assemble goes out, and Jane and Darcy abandon the machines in the lab for their usual pastime of obsessively watching the news about the fight.  (They have bingo sheets for the more ridiculous battles; having a Doombot square is almost a guarantee of winning that round.)

The lady newscaster from channel 11 is on one TV, and Darcy ticks off a square in the left hand column of her bingo sheet when she all but makes heart eyes when talking about Thor.  “Boooo!” Jane hisses, sticking her tongue out at the newscaster on the TV screen.

“...and it seems that a dragon has descended upon Stonebridge Preparatory Academy.  The Avengers are on the scene…” the newscaster on channel 7 says.  

Jane and Darcy turn to the other TV to see a blue dragon roughly the size of a school bus land solidly on the Stonebridge Prep steps.  “Hah! I have mythological beast as one of my squares,” Jane crows.

“Son of a bitch,” Darcy swears.  She _knows_ that dragon.

 

* * *

 

 

Scarlet Witch has the dragon contained in an energy field when the sky darkens and an ominous roar sounds overhead.  “Hawkeye, sitrep?” Cap says into his earpiece.  

“Cap? I think we’ve got another dragon,” he answers, voice incredulous.  “And it’s one big motherfu-”

“Language!” three different voices chime in over the comm.

“Son of a bitch,” Cap swears tiredly.  “Scarlet Witch, can you hold another force field?”

“I can barely hold this one!” she yells.

The second dragon is significantly larger than the first - at least three times the size of the blue dragon on the steps.  It has deep burgundy scales that fade to nearly black at the joints, and three wickedly sharp horns on its head.  It swoops in, grabs the first dragon by the ruff of its neck, and flies away.  

“All aerial units follow those dragons!” Cap orders through the comms.

The second dragon pauses at the building Hawkeye is perched on.  It puffs out a breath of smoke from its nostrils before resuming flight.

“Did that dragon just wink at me?” Hawkeye’s shocked voice echoes through the comms.  Next to Cap, Black Widow rolls her eyes while Scarlet Witch snorts.

“Hawkeye, no,” Black Widow says forcefully.

“Hawkeye yes! Grappling arrow motherfu-”

“Language!”

“Aw yeah, riding a dragon!” Hawkeye crows through the comms.  Scarlet Witch doubles over laughing while Black Widow mutters unflattering things under her breath in Russian.

“Guys, I think the dragon is going to my tower,” Iron Man’s voice comes through the line.

“All units, to the tower,” Cap says resignedly.  

Maria Hill lands a Quinjet at the end of the block, and all the ground team scrambles to it. From the copilot’s seat of the Quinjet’s cockpit, Cap watches as the burgundy dragon dives for the landing platform of the Tower.  Physics aren’t exactly his forte, but he knows that there is no way the platform can structurally support two dragons.  Then, seemingly in midair, the dragon shifts and instead of two dragons (and a Hawkeye) landing, three people tumble across the landing pad.

Maria pulls the Quinjet alongside the landing pad, and Scarlet Witch, Black Widow, and Cap all jump off as Iron Man, Thor, Falcon, War Machine and Vision all land alongside them.  Hawkeye is sprawled on the landing, bow flung several feet out of his grasp.  Black Widow helps him up while the rest of the team looks on at the scene playing out in front of them.

“What were you thinking?” Darcy Lewis yells at a scrawny teenage boy with slightly singed clothes.  “You are supposed to be in school right now!”

The boy runs his hands through his hair, making his dark curls halo around his face.  “But, Ma,” he whines, dragging the second word out.  “There was a social injustice happening!”

Darcy’s face softens for a moment before she schools her features back into a stern expression.  “But setting things on fire is not the way to fix that!” she responds, hands flailing as she paces in front of him.

Thor steps towards the arguing pair.  “Darcy, is there trouble here? Are you in need of a mediator?” he asks politely.

Darcy quickly turns towards him, and Cap can see the steam curling out of her nostrils.  “This is all your fault,” she says, pointing a finger at Thor.  “With all your warrior crap that you’ve been telling him when you think I can’t hear.  Oh no, buddy,” she says, shaking a finger at him, “I will deal with you later. Inside.” she says, pointing to the door to the penthouse.  “And as for you, Theodore Roosevelt Lewis...” she says menacingly, turning back to the teenager.

“Uh...Ma?” the boy says, giving Cap and the rest of the team a wide-eyed look.  “Are those the Avengers?” he hisses.

Darcy turns once again, this time to face the entire team.  “All of you looky-lous, inside. Now!” she says and in a commanding tone.

Tony - who by now has stripped out of his Iron Man suit and is in jeans and an oil-stained t-shirt - saunters towards the pair.  “Excuse me, Lewis, but last time I checked this is my tower and I can be wherever I want.”

“Anthony Edward Stark,” she says in the tone all mothers know how to do, where your full name is a threat of _so much_ violence.

Tony pauses, momentarily taken aback by her tone.  However, he quickly regains his composure and continues to stride forward.  “No, Lewis, seriously, I must insist on meeting your, son, is it?”

“INSIDE!” Darcy roars, and a small burst of flame escapes from her throat, singeing the front of Tony’s t-shirt.

“Okay, team! Let’s go inside. Bar’s open,” Tony says, herding everyone indoors.  Cap shoots one last furtive glance over his shoulder at Darcy and the boy.  Something about the way the boy - Darcy’s son? - was standing, trying to compose his face into a picture of innocence, was niggling at his memory.

 

* * *

 

 

Once the Avengers were safely inside the penthouse, Darcy turns back to her wayward baby boy.  His shoulders are slumped and he has a terribly hangdog expression on his face, and Darcy can feel her resolve crumbling.

Before she can say anything, Roo starts babbling.  “Look, Ma, I’m sorry.  But it just wasn’t fair! The school board was meeting about cutting funding from the library and the arts programs in order to budget more for the stupid lacrosse team, which is total shit bee tee dubs, and no amount of money is gonna fix that...and I had to do something! But they wouldn’t allow any students at the meeting, so I tried to talk to the principal about it.  Ma, seriously, I even had this kick ass handout prepared, about the statistics of kids who do art…”

Darcy tunes him out as he rambles about his latest cause.  Roo not only inherited her babbling gene, but also her love of statistics and pie charts.  Combine that with his father’s ability to be incredibly persuasive when he put his mind to it and...well, Roo had the makings of a lethal lobbyist one day.  “Okay, okay,” she say, cutting him off.  “But why didn’t you just tell me about it? I would’ve gone to the meeting for you.”

Roo looks down at the ground.  “I thought you were busy with Jane or somethin’,” he mumbles.

“Roo baby, I’m never too busy for you,” she says, pulling the reluctant teen into her arms.  “Not my little Teddy bear,” she coos, peppering his cheek with kisses.

“Maaaaa,” he whines, squirming to get out of her arms.  “You’re getting lipstick on me!”

Darcy releases him and allows him to make a big production out of wiping off his face.  “But even if I couldn’t make it, Roo, setting the place on fire is not the way to handle things!” she chides him gently.

“I know,” he grumbles.  “I just...I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby.  But that being said, you still have to make amends.” Darcy taps a claw against her chin, pondering his punishment. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. You have to do a couple of things.  1) you have to liquidate some of the more valuable pieces of your hoard and donate the money to the library, 2) you have to volunteer with Ms. Schafer to help put the library back in order once it is rebuilt, and 3) 100 lines, in calligraphy, of the Motto.”

“No, not the Motto,” Roo says, pouting at her.

“Yes, the Motto.  And I want some, like, monk-quality calligraphy, mister.”  Roo groans dramatically at her.  “Yep, that’s right.  And you’re selling the trading cards.”

Roo gives her the most offended look.  “Low blow, Ma.”

“I know a guy who’ll give you a fair price for the whole set.”

“It’s not AC_11273 is it? I hate that guy. He always snipes my bids,” Roo complains.

Before Darcy can respond, Roo’s stomach rumbles loudly, and he blushes.  “C’mon, spawn, I’ll make you something to eat while you work on your lines,” she says, wrapping an arm around his waist and leading him inside.

 

* * *

 

Once Roo is seated at the kitchen table with a roll of parchment and a stack of sandwiches that is almost as tall as he is,  Darcy sits down for a quiet talk with Thor about her impressionable offspring.

“I am sorry if my tales of heroic feats have caused your child to do such grievous harm to his place of learning,” Thor says once she pulls him aside.

Darcy sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose.  “It’s not that, Thor...it’s just, you have to remember that for all his years, he is still barely a teenager, and therefore very impressionable.  When you combine that with the hormones and a dragon’s temper...it can be a combustible combination.” She giggles quietly. “Pun not intended.”

“I will strive to edit my stories for his young ears,” Thor promises.

“It’s more that I’d rather you tell him about current Thor, rather than past Thor,” Darcy says.  “Cuz I remember past Thor, and he was kind of a dick,” she says, nudging him in the side with her elbow.

Thor chuckles.  “Verily, I would agree with you.”

“Then we’re copacetic,” Darcy says, laying her head against his arm.  “Did I ever tell you what I did when I was his age?”  Thor shakes his head, so Darcy starts to weave her story. 

“I was living in Egypt at the time, under the rule of Cleopatra VII.  I was apprenticed to a diviner in her court, studying palmistry and augury.  However, I was disguised as a boy, so I could study the texts at the library in Alexandria, since it was closed to women.  Unfortunately, these came in,” she says, motioning to her chest, “and they soon discovered I was not who I claimed to be and kicked me out.  So...I lost my temper and set the place on fire,” she finishes in a rush.  “So, at Roo’s age, I caused one of the most devastating losses in cultural history. So I really can’t be too mad at him,” she confesses.

Thor laughs, a great big belly whoop that catches the attention of everyone else in the room.  “That it worse than my stunt with my goats!” he guffaws.

“That was terrible,” Darcy groans before laughing alongside him.  “You are not allowed to tell Roo about that.”

“Tell me about what?” Roo’s voice echoes from the kitchen.

“Nothing!” Darcy and Thor answer in unison, before dissolving into another fit of laughter.

 

* * *

 

While Thor and Darcy talk in the corner, Steve heads to the kitchen to get a closer look at Darcy’s son.  Sandwich in one hand and pen in the other, he methodically takes a bite of the sandwich, and then writes while he chews.

“Can I steal a sandwich?” Steve asks the teen.

He waves a hand over the plate while taking a bite, and Steve takes that as a go ahead.  He snags a sandwich at random and takes a bite, and the flavors that hit his tongue take him back to his childhood.  He can picture his mother patching up whatever scrapes he and Bucky had accumulated that day while Bucky’s ma fed them cucumber sandwiches, the two women getting onto their boys in a harmony of Gaelic, German and English.

The kid leans back from his parchment and stretches, finally looking at Steve.  “Holy shit, you’re Captain America,” he swears, once he realizes who he is talking to.

Steve swallows.  “I prefer Steve,” he says, shrugging.

The kid nods.  “Yeah, okay, I know who you are now.  Thor and Ma have told a few stories about you. I’m Roo.”

“You know Thor?”

“Yeah, he and my mom go way back.  I think she used to babysit him or something, I dunno,” he says, shrugging.

Steve looks over his shoulder at Darcy, who doesn’t look a day over 25, and then looks back at Roo, who looks to be about 15.  “How old is your mom, exactly?” he asks.

“Old,” Roo says seriously.  “Old as _balls_.”

“I heard that Theodore!” Darcy calls out from where she is sitting with Thor and Jane, her voice teasing.

Roo leans in towards Steve and whispers conspiratorially.  “She’s always like, ‘back in my day we didn’t have a written language, Roo.  I had to memorize everything I ever learned,” he says in a falsetto.

Steve chokes a laugh and tries to turn it into a cough as Darcy comes into the kitchen.  “What was that, spawn?” she asks as she sits down next to Steve.

“Nothing,” Roo says, a touch too innocently.  Steve shoves another sandwich in his mouth and just shrugs.

Clint wanders into the kitchen then, white bandages covering half of his forehead and one arm.  Quicker than the eye can see, Darcy snags him and pulls him down into her lap, fussing over his wounds.

“What the hell, Lewis?” Clint grumbles, squirming in her lap.

“Hold still,” she growls as thick claws curve out of the hand that is clamped on his leg, and Clint immediately stills.  The air thickens around them, and Roo can see the familiar magic flowing from Darcy to the guy she has in her lap.

“Seriously Ma? Another one?” Roo groans.  “We have enough shell casings in the lair as it is!”

“This one shoots arrows,” Darcy says defensively.

Clint and Steve exchange confused looks over the top of Darcy’s head.  “Um, what?” Clint says, scratching the uninjured side of his forehead.

“Ma hoards snipers,” Roo says disgustedly.  “So congrats, arrow-man, you have just been added to her hoard. Welcome to the family.”

“I hoard other things, too!” Darcy says haughtily.  “And people in Howling Commando-wallpapered houses should not throw stones.”  Roo blushes and tries to hide behind the depleted plate of sandwiches.

“Wait, what?” Steve echoes.

“Roo here hoards Howling Commando memorabilia,” Darcy says gleefully.  

Before Roo can defend himself, Darcy shoots straight up - knocking Clint out of her lap and onto the floor.  “Roo do you smell that?” she asks her son, and her voice seems to rumble out of her body, deep into everyone’s bones.

Roo stands as well and sniffs the air.  “Gunpowder...cinnamon...ice…” he intones.

“With a hint of rye whiskey,” Darcy adds.  She and Roo exchange a sharp, dangerous look before dashing out of the kitchen and to the landing platform.  Steve, Clint, and Thor follow them outside.

“No, Roo. It’s too dangerous,” they hear Darcy say.  “I won’t have you be hurt chasing after my hoard.”

“But, Ma, what if it’s…?” Roo trails off.

Darcy strokes his cheek gently.  “Then I’ll bring him home,” she says quietly.

Roo wraps her in a hug.  “Be careful, Ma,” he whispers into her hair.  “I love you.”

Darcy strokes his back.  “Love you too, Theodore,” she whispers.  “Now stay here with Thor.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  Darcy releases Roo, and Thor places an arm gently around the boy’s shoulders.  With a shaky smile, she turns and sprints across the landing pad, leaping into the midafternoon sun.

Steve and Clint rush forward and peer over the edge of the platform, searching for Darcy.  They are knocked back when the burgundy dragon surges upward, smoke trailing in her wake.

“Care to share with the rest of class what exactly is going on?” Tony’s voice calls out from behind them.

“She’s gone to get my dad,” Roo whispers to himself as Thor guides him inside.


	7. dragon (pt II)

Roo glues himself to Thor’s side as he’s surrounded by the Avengers.  Dr. Jane fits herself into Roo’s other side, and he finally feels a bit safer, surrounded by his mom’s adoptive family.

“How did you do on your physics test?” Dr. Jane asks him quietly as the rest of the Avengers hurl questions at Thor.

“98,” Roo replies proudly.  “I killed the curve.”

“That’s my boy,” Jane says, squeezing him lightly.  She tugs him - and by extension, Thor - onto a nearby couch, and the three curl up together, Jane’s head on Roo’s shoulder and Thor’s arm around them both.

“Okay, but who is this child in my tower?” Iron Man (!!) asks Thor.

Roo straightens up indignantly.  “Excuse me, Mr. Stark, but technically I am older than you.  So if anyone is a child, it is you,” he spurts out, smoke curling out of the corners of his mouth as he speaks.

“Theodore.” 

Thor rumbles his name as a warning, and Roo slumps back down onto the couch.  A small belch escapes him, and he exhales a few smoke rings.  “‘Scuse me,” he mumbles.

A graceful, red-headed woman intervenes.  “Why don’t we make some introductions, and then we’ll let - Roo, is it? - tell his story.  My name is Pepper Potts,” she says to Roo, smiling at him.

Since his mom isn’t here to get onto him, Roo chances a peek into her mind.  It looks like a chessboard, but instead of pawns it has extra knights and bishops.  She obviously values people, and only surrounds herself with those who are worthy, he thinks to himself.  Some of the pieces vaguely resemble some of the people in the room with him, like Mr. Stark and the other red-headed woman.  “It’s nice to meet you,” he says politely.  “I’m a huge fan of all the work you’ve done with the Maria Stark Foundation for STEM programming in schools, especially with the programs geared towards girls.”

A light blush covers Pepper’s cheeks.  “Thank you,” she says delightedly.  “Are you a STEM student?” she asks him.

Roo shrugs.  “I study everything,” he replies.

“And obviously, you know who I am,” Mr. Stark interjects.  Roo arches an eyebrow at him.  “Whoa, you look eerily like Lewis when you do that. Stop,” he says, shuddering.  Roo smiles at him, his teeth too long and too sharp, until Jane pinches him in the side.

“And we met earlier,” Steve says, drawing Roo’s attention away from antagonizing Mr. Stark.  Roo peeks inside Steve’s mind as well - it looks like a sketchbook, filled to the brim with detailed drawings of everything and everyone.  Roo idly flipped through it, spotting faces he knew from his Howling Commando collection, and some that were in the room now.

“Uh, I’m Clint, if that wasn’t made clear earlier,” the archer says around a mouthful of protein bar.

Roo can feel the man’s thoughts shooting straight towards him.  He’s confused, and the scrape on his forehead itches, and he thinks Darcy is kinda scary, but also kinda hot, and doesn’t believe that Roo is actually her son.  “Ew, gross, dude. She definitely my mom,” Roo says without thinking.  

“About that…” the other red-headed woman says, stepping forward out of the shadows.  Mr. Stark flinches and swears under his breath, but Roo just smiles serenely at her. 

_Like a spider could scare a dragon_ , he thinks.  “привет немного паук,” he says in perfect Russian.

The woman’s expression does not change, but inside her mind Roo can see the way she tenses.  There’s a layer of memory attached to that expression - something to do with how he looks - that he cannot quite understand.  Before he can probe further, a wall comes down, shutting him out of her mind.  She smiles knowingly, and Roo bows his head in gracious defeat.  “You may call me Natasha Romanoff,” she says graciously.

“Вы понимаете, старые способы, не так ли?” he asks her.  She raises one shoulder in an elegant shrug, and Roo laughs.  “Clever girl,” he says to her, which gains him a true smile from Natasha.

“Sup, I’m Sam Wilson,” the man she is sitting next to says.  Roo goes to look into his mind as well, but the man has surprisingly strong walls up, so he does not pry.

“What the hell, Tony? Why is DUM-E following me around with a fire extinguisher?” a man’s voice calls out from the hallway.  A man in a bright blue polo and jeans walks into the living room, followed by a forlornly beeping robot holding an oversized fire extinguisher in his claws.

Roo straightens up.  “Colonel Rhodes! Wow,” he says excitedly.  “We studied one of your projects from MIT during my robotics class last term.”

Colonel Rhodes brightens.  “Really? And not his?” he says, gesturing to Mr. Stark.

Roo makes a face.  “Well, I mean, yeah, but yours was way cooler,” he replies.  

Colonel Rhodes flops down into the armchair next to Jane.  “Call me Rhodey, kid,” he offers, and Roo tries not to squeal out loud.

A red beam of magic envelops the robot that is trying to get around the furniture to Rhodey.  Roo traces it back to a girl who doesn’t look much older than him, her fingers crooked into rune signs.  He mimics her hands and add his own stream of royal blue magic, and between the two of them the robot is quickly back in lab where it goes.

“Thank you,” she says, surprised.  Her voice is deeper than Roo expected, and faintly tinged with an Eastern European accent.

“You-you’re welcome,” he stutters out, blushing to the roots of his hair.

She smiles warmly at him.  “I am Wanda,” she says, but her warm greeting is tinged by the grief that seems to roll off of her in gentle, steady waves.

Before Roo can reply, his eyes catch a glint of light off of the Mind Stone set in a man’s forehead.  Quicker than the eye can see, Roo jumps up off of the couch and dashes over to the man, nearly wrapping himself around him.

“Theodore Roosevelt Lewis!” Jane yells in an approximation of Darcy’s mom-voice, but it’s not enough to stop him.

Roo ignores her and stretches up to reach the Mind Stone, midnight blue claws extending from his hands.  “Sssssuch knowledgggge,” he hisses, eyes glowing.

The man steps out of Roo’s grasp.  Thor manages to catch Roo just as the younger man lunges, fangs bared and smoke rolling out of his mouth.  Thor hauls Roo back to the couch, where Jane instantly throws her arms and legs over him to hold him in place.

Roo’s eyes stop glowing as he regains his senses.  “Oh! I’m tho thorry!” he lisps, fangs still extended.  “I thould alwayth athk before trying to hoard thomeone!”

The man tilts his head, and Roo can feel him looking deep inside his mind.  It’s somewhat unsettling, and Roo suddenly feels bad about doing the same thing to several other people in the room.

Then suddenly, the man laughs.  “I think you and I have much in common, Theodore,” he says.  “We both pursue knowledge.”

Roo nods, eyes wide at the man’s oddly metallic voice.  “Yesssss,” he hisses, leaning forward.  Thor throws an arm across Roo’s chest, holding him back, and Roo regains his composure.

“I will consider your offer of hoarding,” the man offers.  “And you may call me Vision.”

“And I’m Maria Hill,” a dark-haired woman chimes in, giving them all unimpressed looks.  “Now that we’ve done the niceties, can someone please explain what the hell is going on?”

Roo stands up and straightens his posture, drawing himself up to his full height.  “My name is Theodore Roosevelt Lewis.  I was born January 3rd, 1944. I spent the first three decades of my life in Asgard, training with my grandmother, the great dragon who lives amongst the leaves of Yggdrasil, and the Queen Mother Lady Frigga. Since then, I have lived amongst the humans, traveling across the globe with my mother, Darcy Georgiana Lewis.”   His voice doesn’t carry much power yet, but it has enough that every human in the room is leaning toward him, drawn into his story.

“Perhaps you should explain a few things about dragons to them,” Thor suggests.  “They are rather uncommon on Midgard, after all.”

“Alright,” Roo says, sitting back down.  “Now everyone knows that dragons hoard two big things,” he says, but his statement is met with blank looks.

“Gold and knowledge,” Thor explains to his confused teammates.

“Right, but, the more powerful dragons hoard other things, too,” Roo continues.

“Weird things,” Thor says in a fake cough (a Midgardian thing he’d learned from Clint last week).  Roo gives him a dirty look as Jane thumps Thor on the ear, causing the Asgardian to yelp.

“Anyway,” Roo drawls, turning back to the rest of the Avengers.  “My mom is one of the most powerful dragons out there, but she got banished to Midgard for something she did that she won’t tell me about until I’m at least two centuries old,” he says, pouting a little.  “So, she’s just been hanging out down here for about….four centuries, maybe?” he says, turning back to Thor for confirmation.

“I believe it is closer to five, now,” Thor adds.  “But, back to the hoarding?” he suggests.

“Right, hoarding. For example, my mom hoards snipers, music, people who speak Yiddish and/or Hebrew, charm bracelets, um…” Roo says, ticking things off on his fingers.

“Mesoamerican art,” Jane adds.

“Capes,” Thor adds as well.

“...and a few other things I’m not comfortable mentioning because thinking about my mom in that context is gross,” Roo finishes, making a face.

“Lingerie,” Thor says, fake coughing again.

“Victorian fetish memorabilia,” Dr. Jane adds in a rush before dramatically clearing her throat.

Roo full-body shudders.  “You two are gross and deserve each other,” he growls playfully at Thor and Dr. Jane.

“Question,” Clint says, raising his hand.  “You said you had a lair...with other snipers…” he trails off.

“If by lair, you mean interdimensional space where we keep all of our extra stuff, then yeah, totally,” Roo answers nonchalantly.

“Do I have to stay there? Because, I kinda have...other places to be,” Clint asks.

Roo laughs so hard he falls back onto the couch between Thor and Jane.

Thor shakes his head fondly at Roo before turning to Clint.  “By my understanding, when dragons hoard other sentient beings, such as Midgardians, the people they hoard are free to live out their lives as they choose.  Being hoarded by a dragon merely makes them...more,” he explains.

“People who are hoarded by dragons live longer, heal faster, have quicker reflexes, a sharper mind...basically, they’re like a supercharged version of themselves,” Roo adds.

“So like the super soldier over there,” Stark says, jerking a thumb towards Steve.

Roo nods, and turns back to Clint.  “Of course, you will have your own space in the lair, to do with as you please.  You can use it as a storage locker, or a hidey-hole, or whatever.  My people use it as extensions of their own homes. Like an extra living room.”

“I didn’t know you hoarded people, too,” Dr. Jane says.  

“Well, I only have two.  I hoard librarians,” he admits.  “Hoarding people is very delicate, because you have to have an existing relationship with them before you can hoard them.  And Ma wouldn’t let me hoard anybody until I was 50.”

“Oh, so that’s why she didn’t hoard me until London,” Jane says.

“You’re a sniper?” Clint asks Jane.

“No, I speak Hebrew,” she replies, wrinkling her nose.

“So what do you hoard, Roo?” Pepper asks him.

“Librarians, Howling Commandos memorabilia, original Art Nouveau pieces, roses, and spy gadgets.”

“Did you buy that Mucha piece that came on the market a few years ago? The Sarah Bernhardt advertisement?” Pepper asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

“La dame aux camelias? Yessss….” he says, hissing guiltily.

"Oh, you must let me see your collection sometime then.  I had my eye on that one for years!” she says, smiling at him.

Steve finally looks up from where he has been sketching frantically while Roo spoke.  “Roo,” he says gently, “is this your dad?” He holds out his sketchpad to Roo.

Roo takes the sketchpad from him, and looks down at a page filled with different versions of Bucky Barnes.  “I think so,” he says quietly.  “I’ve never actually met him, but Ma…” he says, trailing a finger across the page.  “I think Ma hoarded him, and he was stolen from her while she was nesting with me.  It’s all my fault,” he whispers, before throwing the sketchpad down and darting out of the living room.

Jane and Thor both jump up at Roo’s departure.  Jane places a hand on Thor’s arm.  “I’ll go.  You stay and explain dragon stuff to everyone else,” she says before jogging after Roo.

Thor sits back down on the couch.  “When dragons are expecting, they hole up in their lairs.  Once the babe is born, they nest with it in the lair for roughly a decade.  During that time, they are oblivious to nearly everything outside of their lair.”

“And if Roo was born early in 1944…That would mean Darcy spent most of 1943 in her lair.  She wouldn’t have known that Bucky fell off of the train and was captured,” Steve says, picking up his sketchbook.

“Aye. And from what I remember of Darcy’s previous nestings, she does not take kindly to being disturbed for any reason during that time, so no one who knew her true nature would even consider trying to tell her."

“Wait a minute,” Sam interrupts.  “You’re saying she has other kids?”

“Aye, two girls.  Mariella lives in Nice, France, and Hilde has a lair somewhere in the Black Forest, I believe.  She stays in her dragon form more than Mariella does.”

“Roo said that Darcy used to babysit you,” Steve said, looking closely at Thor.

“She minded me when I was equivalent to a Midgardian teenager, much like Theodore is now. I am afraid that I was hell bent on making mischief at that age, and Loki only encouraged it.  In fact, it is indirectly my fault that she was banished to Midgard,” Thor admits.

“What did you do?” Natasha asks, curious.

“Darcy was nesting with Hilde, her first spawn.  My brother had been bragging about his skill with portals, so I dared him to create one into her lair and steal something from her hoard.  I knew she would be hard pressed to notice, and I foolishly thought that she would not be terribly upset if she caught us, and instead see it as a youthful prank.  I was sadly mistaken,” he says, shaking his head.

“What happened?” Sam asks.

“Apparently, trying to deep fry one of the crown princes of Asgard and feed him to your newborn is frowned upon,” Darcy says tiredly from the balcony behind them.  “And you better pray to all your ancestors that Roo did not hear you tell that story, or I will personally deliver you to Hel to use as a footstool,” she threatens Thor.

Steve jumps up at the sound of her voice and rushes over to Darcy.  “Did you…?”

She gives him a tired smile.  “Yeah.  But he’s resting in the lair right now, and I won’t have you disturb him,” she orders.  

Steve wraps her up in a big hug - and if his shirt is a bit damp when he sets her back down, well...everyone is kind enough not to say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more part to this - family reunion!
> 
> Also, the Mucha painting that Roo and Pepper talk about is actually part of the permanent collection at the museum where I work. I want to steal it very badly, but instead I just admire it every time I do lock up ;).


	8. modern witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be another dragon chapter - but due to some, um, "technical difficulties" (the nice term, I guess), I'm not really feeling the urge to write it right now. (If you really want to know what's going on, you can find the rant on my tumblr page - same username as here.)
> 
> Instead, have this, inspired by moonstalker24's IBDC: Darcy Lewis Style (chapter 46)!

“Hey are you done with that?” Darcy asks an obviously inebriated Tony, who is laying on the floor in his lab, clutching an empty bottle of scotch to his chest.

“No,” he whines, dragging the word out, as Darcy plucks the empty bottle out of his hand.  She sniffs it, tilts it side to side, and then holds it up to her ear like a seashell before nodding decisively and tucking it into her messenger bag.

“Okay, great.  No more science until you sober up, shower, and sleep for at least twelve hours.”

“Or you’ll what? Get FRIDAY to lock me out?” Tony says belligerently.

Darcy snorts quietly.  “It’s kinda cute how you think your AIs are the be all, end all.” She pulls a tablet stylus out from her bag, twirls it around her fingers for a moment, then taps it three times against the doorframe.  “I’ll see you on Friday morning, and not a moment before.”

As she rides the elevator up to the residential floors, Darcy pulls the scotch bottle from her bag and ponders it.  The label is Blackadder - and as she rolls it in her hands, she feels a sharp sting of rejection and a deeper, blacker, melancholy ache.

Finally, the perfect bottle for her Heartless potion. Smiling, she tucks the bottle back into her bag as the elevator opens up onto the floor she shares with Clint and Sam - both of whom are rarely there.  

(Thor had offered her space on his and Jane’s floor, but his magical energies tended to really screw with her potions, so Darcy had politely declined his offer. Pepper had counter-offered with a suite on the ‘bird’ floor, as it had been nicknamed by Tony.  Darcy accepted it with a very cat-in-the-cream smile, and Pepper only laughed and shook her head.)

Once she reaches the sanctity of her kitchen, Darcy sets about working on a few potions.  While her frog prince teapot hops around on the back burners of her stove, she fills her trusty copper pot with seawater, agrimony leaves, and black pepper, and sets it to simmer.  While those two bubble away, she grinds up acorns in her jade pestle (which was won in a Mahjong game off of a rather grumpy dragon).

Shimmering, turquoise blue steam gathers in the kitchen, causing Darcy’s normally curly hair to become rather Hermione-like.  She absently gathers it into a knot on the top of her head and sticks a pair of chopsticks and one of her smaller wands in it to hold it out of her face.

She adds her acorn and other ground-up herbs to the copper pot, causing the turquoise steam to turn bubblegum pink and the scent of gardenias to fill the kitchen.   Smiling, she makes a note in her grimoire - a large, overstuffed binder with a picture of the Halliwell sisters from Charmed taped to the front that contained all the recipes she’d ever tinkered with.

Pulling the wand from her hair, she taps the kitchen counter twice.  “Twenty seven minutes, then we’re done,” she commands, tapping the counter twice more.  The teapot settles on a burner (the left one, she notes in her grimoire) and Darcy sticks the wand back into her lopsided bun and goes to the bathroom.

She digs around, searching for an empty eyeshadow powder case in the chaos that is her bathroom cabinet.  Checking the name on it - Last Call, suitably appropriate - she pockets it, and returns to the kitchen.

Forty three minutes later, she has a glamor powder made and encased in the eyeshadow case.

 

* * *

 

“And here is your floor,” Pepper says to Sam as the elevator opens up to a hallway that smells faintly of hatch green chilies.  “You share it with Clint, who I am assuming you’ve met, and Darcy, who is Dr. Foster’s assistant.”  She leads him to the door on the left hand side of the hall.  “Oh, and watch out for Darcy’s cat.  She’s a sneaky little thing who likes to get into places where she doesn’t belong,” Pepper warns him with a funny little smile.

Sam presses his hand against the biometric lock, and the door slides open.  “Of course, you are free to change the space to suit your tastes,” Pepper says as Sam steps in. Before she can say more, her phone chimes discreetly.  “Excuse me, just a moment,” Pepper says before stepping back into the hall.

Sam curiously wanders into his new space, noting the couch (keep) and weird glass coffee table (toss) and the floor to ceiling windows that offer and amazing view of the New York skyline.  An insistent meowing from around his ankles draws his attention away from the windows and down towards the white cat that is winding its way around his ankles.

“Well hello there beautiful,” Sam says, scooping the cat into his arms. (He’s always been a cat person.)  He idly scratches under the cat’s chin as he checks out the rest of the kitchen/living room space in his new suite.  A tiny bell tinkles under his fingers, and he fights the sudden urge to yawn.  Glancing down, he sees a red collar around the cat’s neck.  “Hello...Mogget,” he says, reading the cat’s name tag.

A cloud of purple smoke blows into his face, and when it clears, his arms are full of a curvy brunette with an impish smile, rather than the white cat that had been there moments before.  “I really prefer Darcy,” she says, wiggling her nose at him.

Pepper returns right at that moment and coughs to get their attention.  “This isn’t what it looks like!” Sam blurts out, raising his hands.

Darcy lands with a cat-like grace and saunters past Pepper. “Of course not...Darrin,” Pepper says with a wry arch of her eyebrow.  “Let FRIDAY or I know if you need anything,” she says, before following Darcy out of the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some fun references:  
> \- the bit about the white cat named Mogget and the bell are from Garth Nix's Abhorsen trilogy, which has one of the best magic systems I've read in a long time.  
> \- the whole turning into a cat thing/Pepper calling Sam 'Darrin' are a reference to the opening title cards to the old TV show 'Bewitched'


	9. stitch witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: yes, I know the German is bad/wrong/terrible grammar. I come from the google translate school of language, which is awful. We all know it to be so. HOWEVER, I am not really in the mood to fix it. So, if it bothers you, I'm sorry? But author's prerogative here.

The Sprague women have always been a little...different. Oh, they’re perfectly nice people, but the things they do tend to be somewhat odd. Where Darcy grew up, farmers never planted until Hilde Sprague told them to. Everyone knew that a cup of coffee made by Tina Sprague would jump start you like nothing else, and sober up even the town drunk. Greta McEntire (who used to be Greta Sprague) made jams that even the pickiest child would devour. Donna Sprague-Lewis could whistle any animal under her control.

Darcy’s last name may be Lewis, but she inherited the Sprague knack (along with the Sprague nose and lack of height). In fact, Darcy takes after her great-aunt Beatrix and can almost work magic with needle and thread. Beatrix passes away when Darcy is sixteen, and she wills Darcy her antique, cast-iron Singer sewing machine and a collection of fabric that would make a hoarder envious. When Darcy moves into the Tower, she makes Tony pay to have it all shipped from Texas to New York.

 

* * *

 

 

“What is that?” Tony asks, disdain dripping from every word, as Thor carries a mess of PVC pipes into the common room for movie night.

“A quilt frame,” Darcy answers from behind Thor, her arms full of fabric. She passes it all to Sam, who holds it all with a bemused look on his face, and Darcy starts to take pieces of PVC from Thor. Under her direction, Thor quickly assembles the frame. With Sam’s help, Darcy spreads a red and white quilt across the frame, placing a large, empty block of fabric securely in the middle.

“That’s a thing that people still do? Like, seriously?” Tony asks, watching their assembly of the frame the way one would a car crash.

Darcy shrugs. “It’s a thing that _I_ do,” she says as she sits down on the couch and tugs the frame towards her. She could feel Tony’s eyes on her as she threads her needle with bright red thread and knots it on the underside of the quilt.

“Oh, is that for your sister’s baby shower?” Jane asks as she trails in.

“Brother’s wedding shower,” Darcy answers as she makes the first tiny stitch.

“Syd or Atticus?”

“Eddie, actually,” Darcy answers with a laugh. “But I’m impressed with your knowledge of the Lewis children.”

“I made a chart after I went home with you for Thanksgiving. With pictures,” Jane admits.

The rest of their motley crew stagger in for a movie night, and Darcy contentedly stitches while Harrison Ford yells about things belonging in museums and x never marking the spot. It’s nice, familiar almost, to be surrounding by her people while she stitches - makes the vibes of _home_ and _safe_ and _forever_ that much stronger in her sewing.

When the film ends, Darcy ties off her thread and stands, popping her back. She has one corner of flowers and the first line of the e.e. cummings poem in center embroidered, and that feels like quite enough progress for the night. She stretches her arms over her head, flexing her fingers while everyone else around her slowly leaves the room. Steve stops at her quilt frame, and he reverently runs a few fingers along a seam. “Haven’t seen someone sew by hand in a long time,” he remarks quietly, a soft smile playing about his face.

Darcy feels a shift somewhere inside her and _dammit_ , now she has to make this man a quilt.

 

* * *

 

 

Fortunately for Darcy, Steve and Sam leave for another leg of their ‘find Bucky Barnes tour of the world,’ which means she can work on Steve’s quilt without him being spoiled for the surprise. She finds a pattern for Celtic Squares in her stash, and digs out all of her fabrics in rich, deep greens. Thor and Jane leave for Asgard, which means that Darcy has a blissful, uninterrupted week of cutting fabric and piecing it all together. The day she finally has it all pieced together, a package arrives in the mail from her aunt Mattie that contains beautiful, hand-worked crochet that is the perfect shade of cream for the border of Steve’s quilt.

Darcy does all her topstitching in the common room, where other residents flit in and out to watch her work. She tries to work in vibes for _openness_ and _relaxation_ into her delicate stitches - Steve is so guarded and tense sometimes, and all Darcy wants for him is to feel safe enough that he could relax and open up around them.

Tony comes in one day as she is finishing up the lace around the border. “Don’t you know they have machines for that?” he asks as he curiously watches her sew.

Darcy doesn’t look up from her work to respond. “And you have machines that can repair your suits and do you welding and whatever other tasks you need done, yet you still do that by hand sometimes,” she comments idly. “There is something about seeing people use that which you have worked so hard on,” she says, looking up briefly at him.

“Huh,” Tony grunts, sitting down in one of the armchairs to watch her work. Darcy smiles and continues to stitch.

 

Steve and Sam return, Bucky in tow, a little too early for Darcy to have finished Steve’s quilt. She leaves it up on the frame in the common room anyway - it only lacks another day’s worth of work, two at most, so she’s confident she can get it finished before Steve notices.

When she goes back to her frame the next day, there is something underneath it - or rather, someone. A shaggy-haired man is curled up underneath it, shoulders brushing against the PVC frame. “Hi,” Darcy says softly when she peeks underneath the quilt. “You must be James Barnes. I’m Darcy.” The man does not make eye contact with her, but he tries to make himself seem smaller at the sound of his name.

Darcy’s heart aches at the fear and confusion she can feel radiating off of him. “I’m making this for Steve,” she says, patting the quilt. “Do you think he’ll like it?” His fingers reach out and briefly brush against the hem, and he rubs a thumb over the crochet work on the border.

Darcy smiles again. “Okay, well, if you’ll pass me that basket under your knees, you’re welcome to hang out with me while I sew.” He nudges the basket with his shin, and Darcy slowly slides it towards herself. “Thank you,” she says, before sitting down on the couch and draping the excess over her lap.

An hour later, Darcy is finishing the next-to-last block when Steve comes barrelling in. “Darce! Have you seen Bucky?”

Darcy feels the man underneath the frame tense up again, so she pastes a guileless look on her face. “I haven’t seen anyone since I started working on this,” she says. Steve rushes back out, and the man relaxes.

 

The man eventually comes out from under her quilt frame, and takes a seat in the armchair across from Darcy. She smiles at him again, but continues her work on Steve’s quilt.

“I think he’ll like it,” Bucky says quietly. His voice is much smoother than Darcy would have expected - like fine aged whiskey after a few sips.

“I hope so,” she replies.

Bucky picks up the edge of the quilt and looks at the crochet work. “His-his ma’s wedding dress kinda looked like this,” his says quietly.

“It’s called Irish lace. My _tante_ crocheted it,” Darcy idly responds while she works at a tricky bit in the topstitching.

“ _Sie sprechen Deutsch_?” he asks.

“ _Ein bisschen_ ,” Darcy answers after a moment’s thought.

“ _Das ist schön_ ,” he says, holding up the edge of the quilt with his metal hand. It leaves a small grease smear, and he instantly drops it, a terrified look across his face. “I’m s-s-sorry!” he stutters.

Darcy looks up from her stitches to see the smear. “It’s fine! I can fix it!” she instantly reassures him.

“Y-you can?” he asks hesitantly.

She takes the edge from him and taps her finger against the stain. The stain flows up from the fabric into her hand, and Darcy shakes it off away from the quilt. “See? Not a problem.”

“ _Die Hexe_ ,” he whispers under his breath.

“‘Lil bit,” Darcy says unrepentantly. “It’s hereditary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also my headcanon for this 'verse is that Bucky has a stutter for a while after he first regains his memories because he has troubling remembering English versus Russian so he reverts back to German, his childhood language. (I think it said he spoke German in his dossier?) His ma was German and talked to all her kids in German when they were being especially difficult (which was all the time, but she loved em anyway).


	10. seer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Well, sort of. I've been tinkering on this story for a while. It's not all I wanted to write, but I liked the ending, so I left it there.
> 
> *NOTE: This story is being cross-posted into 'so people say' because it also fits a quote I have. So if you are subscribed to both, you'll see an update for it too, but it's the same thing.

Steve, Natasha, T’Challa, Sam, Wanda, and two of the Wakandan healers who have worked with Bucky gather in a conference room in the Wakandan palace to discuss with Bucky his recovery progress. Recovery was going well, but they’ve hit a block in Bucky’s mind and even Wanda cannot find the last of his remaining triggers.

“It’ll take a miracle to find all those triggers,” Sam says, frustrated.

There is a commotion in the hallway outside the room, and then two petite women and an imposing blonde man burst into the conference room. Everyone at the table jumps up, pulling out their preferred weapons or taking their preferred combat stance.

Bucky’s eyes are drawn to one of the women. She is young, with wild dark hair and a messenger bag clutched closely to her chest. “I can help you,” she says, looking deep into Bucky’s eyes. There is a truth and sincerity deep in her voice, and it resonates with something inside Bucky.

“Okay,” he says simply.

Everyone puts their weapons away and warily returns to their seats. The man - Thor - and the two women - Jane and Darcy - introduce themselves to everyone gathered at the table.  Darcy and Jane take the two empty seats at their end of the table, and Thor takes up a relaxed position leaning against the door frame.  "We have come to help," Thor says.

“The women in my family have the Sight,” Darcy explains.

“That is not an easy gift to have,” Wanda murmurs sympathetically.

“No, it’s really not,” Darcy agrees. “Fortunately, our line has almost died out, so there are only a handful of us with the gift, and only a few of those in whom it is actually powerful.”

“So...wait. You can see the future?” Sam asks.

“Not exactly. The women in my family can see the possibilities. The future is constantly changing, and very few things are set in stone.”

“Ah, the _ukubona_ ,” T’Challa says. “There are a few women here who have that gift as well.”

“Well….” Darcy hesitates. “My gift is a little different. My great-great grandmother, may she stay where we put her, took the Left-Hand Path. Ever since, my line’s gift has been a bit...reversed.”  Wanda makes a small, shocked sound, while everyone else just looks confused. “Basically, I can see into the past,” Darcy says quickly, hoping that no one asks any difficult questions. “I can look into a Dark Mirror and see every moment of a person’s past.”

* * *

  Bucky watches Darcy explain her family’s heritage to the table. The tale is fantastical, but she shows none of the signs that she is lying. Her voice is hesitant, but not out of doubt in what she is saying - more out of fear that the others might think she is crazy.

She turns to Bucky, and looks him directly in the eyes. “I can See everything that has been done to you,” she says quietly. “Every coding, every trigger, every freeze, every bit of pain and suffering and misery that you have felt because of what you have endured.”

Her phrasing is odd. “Don’t you mean the pain and suffering I have caused?” he asks her, curious.

“Everyone causes pain and suffering in their lives, if only just a small amount. But not everyone suffers, and very few have suffered like you have,” she replies.

“How do you know? How can you tell?” he asks her, voice barely a whisper, as he looks down at the table.

“Such is the nature of my Path. I know pain and suffering better than most,” she says, sliding one hand forward towards his. Her sleeve rides up her arm, and Bucky can see the myriad of scars that criss-cross up and down the underside of her arm. None of the wounds would have killed her, but to scar that deeply Bucky knows that they would have hurt. “Let me See you,” she says, wrapping her hand around his metal wrist.

Bucky peers up at her through his hair. She has a look in her eyes that tells him that she has seen terror, and fear, and pain, and heartbreak, and misery, and all the worst the world has to offer - but she does not see those things here.

It’s not pity, but it is understanding.

“Okay,” he says, yet again. “Take a look.” 

* * *

With Bucky’s agreement, Darcy carefully unpacks the items in her bag. A bolt of ruby red silk is unfurled over the tabletop. She pulls out on obsidian blade, roughly four inches long and wickedly sharp, and places it in a precise spot on the right side of the silk. A tablet and stylus follow, placed to the left. Finally, she pulls a black drawstring bag out. It is covered in runes and symbols that are even older than Thor, embroidered in a silvery thread that seems to shift colors under the bright halogen lights.

Darcy carefully reaches into the drawstring bag and removes a small, framed mirror. Gems sparkle on its back, and a frisson of power sparks through the room. Everyone but Darcy shifts in their seats or peeks over their shoulder, looking for the ghost they suddenly felt walk over their grave. Darcy places the mirror face down on the silk and taps a fingernail three times against the back. The small noise seems to echo through the conference room, and everyone quiets and turns their attention to her. “Before I do this, we must go over some rules,” she says, her voice low. “No one else is to touch me, no matter what happens. No one is to attempt to break the connection between Bucky and I. And no one is to ever, ever, look into the mirror but me. Am I clear?” she asks, arching an eyebrow at the collection of people around the table. All nod, or make some noise of agreement.

She turns to look at Thor, standing in the doorway behind her. “I need a tether,” she says.

Thor gives her a sheepish smile. “I am afraid I was never quite good at those lessons with my mother,” he says quietly. “I have often wished I paid more attention, now.”

Darcy smiles gently at him. “You did quite well when we practiced earlier.”

Thor nods, and a rarely-seen unsure look crosses his face. He starts chanting under his breath, hands moving in slow circles around each other. A small spark of silver flies from his hands to Darcy, and she nods encouragingly. Thor continues chanting, and more sparks fly, weaving together into a rope that extends from his hands into Darcy’s body.

After a few minutes, Darcy speaks an old Akkadian word that reverberates through the room, rumbling somewhere deep inside everyone’s chest. She tugs on the silvery rope Thor has created and then smiles, pleased. She says something in a different language, long dead, that makes Thor laugh, and then returns to her seat at the head of the table. “Shall we begin?”

She turns and faces Bucky, who is sitting to her left. “I need you to make physical contact with me. Skin to skin,” she says. Bucky slowly reaches out and places his right hand on her left arm, but Darcy shakes her head at him. “I’m a lefty,” she says, moving her left hand in a writing motion. “I’m afraid I might dislodge you. Here,” she says, twisting her hair up into a knot. “The back of my neck.”

Bucky scoots forward and carefully grips the back of her neck. His thumb rests at the hinge of her jaw, right below her left ear, while his fingers curl around to rest against the pulse he can feel beating steadily in her throat. She stares at him, and for a moment her eyes seem fathomless. “Do not look into the mirror,” she reminds him as she starts to flip it over. Bucky nods quickly, once, and then shifts his gaze to a point on the wall behind her.

Darcy exhales slowly, centering herself as she picks up the knife. With a quick, practiced movement, she slices the palm of her right hand open. Blood wells from the cut, rolling over the palm of her hand and slowly trickling down her arm. She sets down the knife and picks up the stylus to her tablet. She rests the stylus in her left hand against her tablet, and with a deep, shuddery, breath, places her bloody right hand against the Dark Mirror. Her head tilts back, and the knot of her hair brushes lightly against where Bucky’s flesh hand is resting against the nape of her neck. When she tilts her head back forward, her eyes are solid black as they look down to stare deep into the mirror. 

* * *

An invisible, preternaturally cold wind whips through the conference room from out of nowhere. Bucky shivers, but he does not loosen his grip. He counts the beat of her pulse underneath her fingers, and-1, and-2, and-3, as a chill seems to overtake the room. Ice creeps out of the mirror and crawls slowly up Darcy’s arm, turning every inch of her an eerie, frosty blue. Darcy’s skin turns to ice beneath his hand, and her heartbeat slows until it is almost imperceptible.

Bucky feels Darcy’s arm move, and chances a glance down. She is rapidly writing on her tablet, stylus flying right to left in a strange alphabet that Bucky does not recognize. He looks around the table to see confused faces that match his own.

Then suddenly, the ice retreats back into the mirror. Her pulse rate picks back up. Darcy’s body starts to thrash in her seat, but Bucky is amazed to see that her left hand is still writing steadily and her right is still pressed flat against the mirror. Her movements grow wilder, and Bucky can hear a distressed noise come from Doctor Foster, who sits on Darcy’s other side.

Suddenly, the movements stop. Darcy’s body goes perfectly still, and she utters a phrase in Russian that Bucky is intimately, terribly familiar with. Bucky can feel Steve turn worried eyes toward him, but surprisingly, Bucky is unaffected. He looks at Steve and shrugs, confused.

Darcy goes through the same series of movements several times, though each instance lasts a different amount of time. She freezes, ice wrapping around her body from the mirror, and then thaws and thrashes. She speaks in Russian, and then stills until the ice starts to wrap up her body again. Freeze, thaw, repeat.

“D’ya think that’s how many times you’ve been put in cryo?” Steve quietly asks Bucky. Bucky shrugs, careful not to dislodge his grip on Darcy’s neck.

Suddenly, Darcy jerks under Bucky’s grip, and it’s all he can do to hold on as she arches her back and screams. Steve gasps, and Bucky looks over to him. Shakily, Steve points to Darcy’s left arm. Bucky looks back at it and inhales sharply. Blood is running in rivulets down her left arm, staining the sleeve of her shirt and dripping onto the table.

Darcy is still screaming - one long, sustained note that echoes around the room, burying itself under Bucky’s skin and making his bones rattle. Tears are rolling down Darcy’s face, and Bucky can see where Doctor Foster is reaching out to touch Darcy.

“Do not, my love,” Thor says quietly from where he his still standing behind Darcy, holding the silver rope. Doctor Foster pulls her hand back as if scorched and holds it in her lap.

Darcy stops screaming, and the silence echoes around the room. She slumps forward, and Bucky leans in to keep his grip on her neck. He can hear Darcy muttering numbers under her breath, and it takes him a moment to recognize his own serial number from his Army days. She’s reciting it like a litany, and then suddenly, she sits up and looks at Steve. “Steve,” she sighs his name like a prayer. Steve jumps in his seat. “I thought you were smaller?” she croaks out, voice hoarse from screaming.

Bucky and Steve exchange surprised looks. Bucky had forgotten until just now his reaction to seeing Steve’s new and Stark-improved body. Steve gives Bucky a tentative smile, and Bucky fondly shakes his head.

Darcy slumps back in her chair, and Bucky echoes her movement. For a stretch of time, Darcy says nothing, and the only movement she makes is the continual motion of writing on her tablet. Finally, she lets out a small, soft, sigh. She smiles contentedly and closes her eyes, humming a lullaby that Bucky barely remembers from his childhood.

A gust of summer wind blows the conference room, warm and smelling of wildflowers. Darcy opens her eyes, and Bucky can see that they have returned to their normal blue. She turns and looks at him, leaning into his grip on her neck. “You are a good man, James Buchanan Barnes,” she says quietly, staring deep into his eyes. “You were not meant to walk my Path.” She pats his hand on her neck and then stands, effectively breaking their connection. 

* * *

Darcy stands and stretches, trying to work out the phantom ache in her left shoulder and the lingering chill deep in her bones. Walking in someone else’s memories is never an easy thing. Bucky’s is not the most difficult past she’s walked in, but it came rather close at points. She glances at Thor over her shoulder, and he carefully breaks the tether between them, calling his own weak magic back in from her body.

Darcy glances down at her tablet. “Enochian?” she remarks, mostly to herself. Her notes on her uses of the Dark Mirror are always in some dead language - people’s secrets deserve to be kept, and that’s the best way Darcy knows how. However, she only uses Enochian when there is some sort of dark magic involved.

Darcy idly scrolls through her tablet, making mental notes on which sections to translate first and which to try and forget.

“So, what can you tell us?” Steve asks in a commanding tone.

“Nothing, yet,” Darcy answers absentmindedly, still scrolling through her notes. Bucky’s past is much longer than she anticipated, so there are many memories to sift through in order to find all of the triggers.

“Well then what use are you?” Steve spits out, frustration lacing his every word.

Thor and Jane both make displeased sounds, but Darcy just looks up at the captain and smiles slowly.

It is not a nice smile.

It is a predatory smile, such as the one Red Room operatives are taught to give to their victims as they trap them in a web of deception and slowly prowl in for the final death blow.

It is a beguiling smile, such as the one a lounge singer might give two impressionable teenage boys from Brooklyn as she finishes up her song, before gesturing to the bouncers to throw them out.

It’s a smile that Bucky recognizes.

“You are more than welcome to my notes,” Darcy says politely, sliding the tablet down the table towards him.

Steve catches the tablet and scrolls through it. “This...isn’t English,” he says, confused.

“Nope,” she says, popping the last syllable on the word as she starts to pack everything back up. The Dark Mirror is carefully put back in its bag, her knife is sheathed behind her back, and the silk is rolled back up.

“How do you even read this?” Steve mutters.

“From right to left,” Darcy supplies in her most helpful tones. Jane snorts and Darcy winks at her conspiratorially.

Wanda idles over and reads Darcy’s tablet over Steve’s shoulder. “Oh, this part should be useful,” she comments. “May I?” she asks Darcy.

Darcy tosses the stylus to Wanda. “Be my guest.”

Wanda catches the stylus and scribbles a few quick notes on the tablet. Once she is done, she slides the tablet and stylus back down the table to Darcy, who quickly packs them up in her bag.

“You asked for a miracle,” Darcy says to Steve. “Miracles take time, but trust me, I’ll deliver.”

Darcy and Wanda exchange a long look, one witch to another. “There is nothing so horrifying as a miracle,” Wanda says quietly, in one of the Old Languages.

“No, there really isn’t,” Darcy agrees in the same language. Miracles require magic, and magic always requires blood.


	11. seer (pt II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So many of you had such nice things to say about the last chapter that I ended up writing a sequel! So thank you for everything, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> WARNING: There are a few dark moments in the story, including some that are vaguely non-con. I've put spoilers in the end notes if you need to check them out before reading this chapter.

Darcy wakes to the scent of frost in the air and the iron tang of blood in her mouth.  The Dark Mirror hums quietly from its place in a locked trunk at the foot of her bed, and she groans and tries to block out the noise with a pillow over her face.

It has been six months since she last used the Dark Mirror.  Six months since she walked in the memories of a man forced to do terrible, violent things.  Six months since she last used the blood magic that was her great-great grandmother’s dark legacy to the women of her line.

The Left-Hand Path is not one for the faint of heart.  Darcy has been trying her hardest to use her gifts for good, not evil, but walking through such violent and deadly memories calls to her baser nature.  There is power in blood, in death, and it tempts Darcy like few things ever have.  She could rule the world with that kind of power, if only she were to take it and wield it like a knife.  Her brief longing frightens her, and Darcy calls on every bit of willpower she has to not take what the Path is offering.

She may walk the path of darkness, but she will use the darkness to fuel her light.

* * *

Thor comes to her later that day, smelling of frost and iron.  “We need another miracle,” he says to her, voice somber and much quieter than normal.

“Are you prepared to pay the price?” she asks him.

“Are you?” he queries back.  There is no judgment in his voice, only concern.  Thor has been studying magic under her tutelage off and on for the last few months, and he is now beginning to understand the toll it exerts on those who use it.

“Let me change my clothes,” is Darcy’s only reply.  She changes into Asgardian leather leggings and boots and a dark coat that is long enough to sweep the ground.  She efficiently braids her hair back, and places the Dark Mirror and her obsidian blade in the coat’s pockets.

Jane intercepts Darcy before she can return to Thor.  “Here,” Jane says, placing a vial of dark red liquid in Darcy’s hands.  “I know you don’t like to talk about what you can do, but based on what you’ve mentioned and my research, hopefully this will help you.”

Darcy does not have to ask; she instinctively knows what it is.  Blood, freely given from a loving heart, is a powerful substance.  “Thank you,” she whispers to Jane as she wraps the other woman in a hug.

“Be careful,” Jane whispers back as she returns Darcy’s hug.

* * *

 

Thor and Darcy arrive at the end of a battle.  A.I.M. soldiers are dying on the ground around an A.I.M. facility somewhere in the Ukraine.  Blood glistens darkly against the snow, and the ground hums with power under Darcy’s feet.

Darcy takes a moment to remove the vial of Jane’s blood from her pocket.  She opens it and tips it against her fingers.  With her hand, she draws bloody runes on her skin - one on her forehead, one on each cheek, and one over her sternum.  They sizzle with power before sinking into her skin, leaving no trace of blood behind.

Thus guarded, Thor leads Darcy into the A.I.M. facility.  More dead men are spread throughout the facility, and the scent of blood surrounds Darcy.  Thor leads them to a center room, where Captain America and Black Widow are attempting to interrogate the lone survivor, while Falcon, the Winter Soldier, and the Scarlet Witch watch.

“I have brought help,” Thor calls out as he and Darcy weave their way through the bodies.  Darcy rubs a hand against the Dark Mirror and feels power surge through her, buoying her against what she must do.

The Winter Soldier gives her a cautious smile, as if he is glad to see her, even amongst this death and destruction.  Darcy gives him a brief nod in return, and then focuses her sight on the A.I.M. captain tied to the chair in front of the Black Widow.

He is dying; that much is obvious to Darcy.  She can sense that a rib has punctured his lung and it is only a matter of minutes, if that, until the man is dead.  Without waiting for permission, Darcy strides forward and shoulders her way past the Captain and Black Widow.

“You are dying,” she says to the man in Russian.

“Good,” he replies in Russian, spitting at her.  “Dead men tell no tales.”

“Maybe not to you,” Darcy says as she slides the obsidian blade into her hand.  “But I’ve always found the dead to be quite chatty.”   And before the man can respond, Darcy plunges her blade into the man’s ribs.  She pulls the Dark Mirror out of her other pocket, and holds it up to the man’s chin.  His last breath fogs up the mirror, and before it can fade away, Darcy inhales sharply.

  

 

Thor quickly steps in.  “Scarlet Witch, if you could contain Lady Darcy?” he asks the younger woman.  She nods, and red bands snake out from her hands to hold Darcy in place.

“What is going on?” Bucky asks from where he is in the shadows behind the group.  “Is Darcy okay?”

“Right now, that is not Darcy.  That is the A.I.M. leader you were questioning.  He will tell you whatever you need to know,” Thor replies.  “Lady Darcy is currently allowing the man’s ghost to possess her, so you may get the answers you seek,” he explains, turning to Steve and Natasha.

Steve sputters, but Natasha wastes no time.  She instantly turns the possessed Darcy and spits out a rapid-fire string of Russian.  Darcy responds in the same language, but it is the A.I.M. leader’s voice that comes out of her throat.

Bucky steps forward to watch.  Darcy’s eyes are blood red, and the smile on her face does not seem to fit.  It is dark and menacing, and it makes her seem as if she is taking delight in all of the carnage around her.

Bucky will admit, if only to himself, that Darcy has fascinated him ever since he met her six months ago.  They hardly exchanged a dozen words, and he hasn’t seen her since, but she has been on his mind nonetheless.  Sometimes, he catches glimpses of her in his dreams, as if she is just hovering on the periphery of his sight - but every time he tries to focus on her, he wakes up.

But this...this is not Darcy.  He can tell by the way she tilts her head to cast appreciative eyes down her own body.  The ghost that is possessing her seems to like his new home a little too much, and it makes Bucky’s skin crawl.

The ghost says something to Natasha that makes her flinch.  It’s a minute movement, but Bucky remembers enough about the Black Widow to catch even the smallest tell.  Natasha carries on, though, interrogating the possessed Darcy thoroughly.

After a few minutes, Natasha walks away from Darcy.  “He’s given us what little he knows,” she says dismissively.  “Let’s pack up and go.”

“What about Darcy?” Wanda asks.

“What about her?” Natasha responds.  “This is her mess, she can get out of it.  You can release her now.”

A small, angry noise escapes Wanda’s throat.  Wanda strides over to the other woman and furiously whispers something in Natasha’s ear.  Natasha gives Wanda a venomous look, but Bucky can see the way Natasha’s face pales and her fingers barely tremble.  Whatever Wanda said, it hit a nerve.  Natasha strides off, and Steve and Sam reluctantly follow her, leaving Bucky and Wanda alone with Thor and Darcy.

Bucky watches as Wanda releases Darcy from her hold.  The ghost possessing her starts to laugh, a dark, menacing tone that raises the hair on the back of Bucky’s neck.  Before anyone can do anything, though, Darcy jerks her pinky backwards and breaks it.  She screams in pain, and a dark green cloud escapes her mouth and dissipates into the air.

“Possession sucks donkey balls,” Darcy says, coughing violently.  

Her words are so crass and irreverent that they surprise a laugh out of Bucky.  Wanda arches an unimpressed eyebrow at him, and he gives her an apologetic look.  “Sorry, I’m sure it does,” he says to Darcy.

“You’d know, though, wouldn’t you?” Darcy responds.  “It’s okay,” she says, giving Bucky a wry smile.  “I force myself to laugh at everything for fear of having to weep.”

“That’s….from a play, right? Beaumarchais?” Bucky says.

“Yeah, _The Barber of Seville_.  Opera’s better,” Darcy coughs out.

“Ah, Figaro.  Well, he’s not wrong,” Bucky says, gently placing a hand on the small of Darcy’s back and leading her out of the facility.  Thor and Wanda follow them out, and the four head towards the Quinjet.

 

 

They’re about halfway back to the Quinjet when Darcy suddenly moans..  “Oh damn,” The other three turn and give her concerned looks, but Darcy waves them on.  “Go on ahead,” she says, grimacing.  “I...need a moment.”

Thor and Wanda cautiously continue on, but Bucky stays with Darcy.   “You okay?” he asks, concerned.

“No,” Darcy moans, and then promptly falls to her knees and vomits.  Bucky, unsure of what to do, squats down to pull the end of her braid out of the way and tries to run a soothing hand down her back.  

Darcy vomits until there is nothing left in her stomach, and then continues to dry heave for a few moments.  Bucky makes soothing noises and rubs her back and wishes there was more he could do.

“His mind…” Darcy murmurs.  “His mind was so...demented.  That man was into some very dark things,” she says quietly, shuddering.  “His first thought on entering my body was that it was nice, but too old for his personal tastes.”

Bucky’s metal hand makes a fist, and he can feel the servos running through their settings.  It’s too bad the A.I.M. leader was dead, because he would love to beat the man to a bloody pulp.  “‘M sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, helping Darcy to stand.

“Told you, possession sucks,” she says dryly, rubbing the back of her hand across her mouth.

A bottle of water floats just behind Darcy, ringed in red light.  Bucky grabs it and offers it to Darcy.  She opens it and takes a swig.  As she’s rinsing her mouth out, Bucky sends a grateful look to where Wanda is standing by the Quinjet.  

A choked sob escapes from Darcy, and Bucky looks back to her.  “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says, and her faces crumples.  Bucky, however, is a man who once had sisters, and therefore one of the rare men not uncomfortable around crying women.  He carefully folds Darcy into his arms and lets her cry herself out, all the while stroking her hair and murmuring more soft nonsense.

After a minute or two, Darcy pats him on the chest.  Bucky reluctantly releases her from his arms.  She wipes at her eyes, and gives a watery chuckle.  “You’ve got mascara all over you now,” she says apologetically.

“S’okay.  My sisters always cried on my shoulders and they got talcum all over me every time,” he says, smiling fondly at the memory.  “Drink the rest of your water.  It’ll make you feel a little better.”

“Thanks,” Darcy says after a few moments, having rinsed her mouth out and drank the rest of the water.

“Wait,” Bucky says.  Darcy turns to look at him, and he gently cups her elbows with his hands.  “I’m sorry you had to experience that,” he says, looking deep into her eyes.  “And I’d kill the guy again for you, if I could.  But thank you.  For everything you’ve done.  I didn’t get a chance to tell you that, last time.”

Darcy gives him a soft smile, and cups a hand around his jaw.  “You are a very good man.”

“Not really, but I’m trying,” he says, pulling back from Darcy.  “You okay to go, now?” he asks her, motioning to the Quinjet.  She nods, and they slowly walk back to it.

 

  

“Y’know,” she says idly, half in and half out of the Quinjet, “I could reanimate him for you.  If you really wanted to kill him again,” she says over her shoulder to Bucky.

Bucky gives her a gobsmacked look.  “You can do that?”  Darcy shrugs, and Bucky laughs.  “It’s very tempting, but I think we need to splint your finger instead.  Maybe some other time.”

“It’s a date, then,” she says, giving him a cheeky smile before turning around and stepping into the Quinjet.

A rare, happy smile blooms over Bucky’s face.  He knows he probably looks like a lovestruck idiot, but he finds that he can’t really bring himself to school his expression as he follows Darcy into the Quinjet.  “It’s a date,” he echoes happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS: The non-con moment in the story is when Darcy is possessed by the ghost of an A.I.M. leader and he is a little creepy/leers at his host body. There is also a brief reference to said A.I.M. leader liking young girls in a predatory way. If that triggers you, it comes after Darcy vomits, so skip the next few paragraphs after that. (But read the last 4 paragraphs! They're my fave and not trigger-y.)


	12. demon

Strange things happen in all night diners, and no one really questions them.  Darcy has done many strange things in all night diners - loudly broken up with a boyfriend, built space models out of breakfast foods with Jane, brokered a few shady deals, and even fallen in love - and none of the other patrons or staff had noticed.

It is in one of the many 24 hour diners that dotted the New York landscape that she found an on-the-run Soviet assassin and yet again, no one noticed.

“Hello, James Buchanan Barnes,” she says quietly as she slid into the booth.

He looks up from his coffee sharply, hand moving under the table to grasp what Darcy assumes was a hidden handgun.  “That’s not my name,” he growls.

“Yes, it is,” Darcy insists gently.  “But your friends call you Bucky.”

A confused look comes into his eyes at the sound of his nickname.  “The man on the bridge..” he says slowly. “He was my friend?” Bucky asks hopefully.

“He still is,” Darcy replies, smiling.

Bucky tugs at his messy hair.  “I don’t remember,” he says, wrinkling his brow.

“Would you like to?” Darcy offers casually.  He shrugs, but Darcy can see the glint of interest in his eye.  “Well, think about it,” she says, patting his hand as she stands. “I’ll see you around.”

* * *

Two weeks later, Darcy finds Bucky in another all night diner.  This time, he is methodically eating an enormous stack of waffles.  Darcy slides in on the opposite side of the booth and steals a piece of bacon as he narrows his eyes at her.

“I can’t decide if you’re a figment of my imagination or just crazy,” he says after he swallows.

Darcy reaches across the table and squeezes his hand.  “I’m definitely real. The crazy part? Debatable,” she says with a shrug before stealing another piece of bacon.

“The man on the bridge is Steve,” he says, almost defiantly. “I remember him.”

Darcy smiles gently at him.  “That’s good,” she says encouragingly.  “Do you remember Becca?”

Bucky’s hands tighten around his silverware.  “I know I should,” he mutters, almost too soft for Darcy to hear.

“I can help you remember,” Darcy says.  

“How? Therapy? Hypnosis? Electroshock? Trust me, lady, we’ve tried it all.”  Bucky says disdainfully.

Darcy scoffs. “Nah, dude, nothing that time consuming. I’m a demon; we prefer instant gratification. We make a deal - memories in exchange for whatever. Boom, bang, bing, magic, done.”

Bucky’s grip on the silverware slackens, and the knife and fork clatter to the chipped tabletop.  The noise echoes throughout the diner, but no one turns and looks at them.

Darcy smiles at him, sharp as a knife.  For a moment, she lets Bucky see her true Self - hellfire, horns and all.  

The color drains from his face.  “S-s-so, you want my soul? Don’t think there’s much of it left,” he says, feigning nonchalance.

Darcy laughs, loud and bright, and he relaxes just a fraction.  “Ew, no. Souls just clutter up my storage unit, collecting dust. I already have a couple hundred.  I don’t need any more.”  She leans forward and steals another piece of his bacon.

“So what do you want?”

Darcy tilts her head and contemplates Bucky, bacon momentarily forgotten in her hand.  She stares deep into his soul, seeing every want and desire and hope and dream like a film over his head.  Memories of his family and a smaller Steve Rogers intertwine with a fantasy of a dance hall with a dark-headed girl on his arm.  (A dark-headed girl that looks an awful lot like her, in fact.)

Darcy then makes the mistake of looking directly into his eyes.  They’re captivating, the dark smudges beneath them only highlighting the ice in the blue.  Bucky arches one dark brow at her, and Darcy is drawn in.

It’s not often that a demon lusts after something they can’t have.  In fact, it’s never happened to Darcy before this moment.  (See: demons and instant gratification.)

But,  _ oh _ , how Darcy wants this man.

“A dance,” she blurts out, before she can think about her words.  “A dance, for your memories before, and a kiss for the memories after.”  She doesn’t have to explain before and after what.

An uncertain look crosses his face.  Darcy has always known when to push and when to withdraw, so she wisely chooses to exit the booth.  “Think about it,” she says, before crunching down on the forgotten piece of bacon in her hand and ambling off.

* * *

Appropriately enough, the third time Darcy finds Bucky, it is again in an all-night diner.  He’s slouched into a back booth, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee while he stares at the table.  Darcy sits across from him again, mimicking his slouch.  With a lazy wave of her hand, a cup of coffee appears in front of her.  Darcy takes a slow sip, makes a face, and then taps the rim of the mug with her finger.  The smell of Irish whiskey wafts up from her cup, and Bucky finally perks up and notices her. 

“Does that offer still stand?” he asks Darcy quietly.

Darcy slides back out of the booth and holds out a hand to Bucky. “Dance with me and find out,” she says.

The diner they’re in is a kitschy, 1950’s malt shop themed, mint green monstrosity, but itss one saving grace is the authentic jukebox, tucked away in a back corner.  It hasn’t worked in nearly twenty years, but it lumbers to life now.  Instead of the requisite Elvis song, though, a slow, seductive beat pulses through its speakers.

Bucky clasps Darcy’s outstretched hand, and she tugs him out of the booth and onto the black-and-white checkered linoleum.  The floor is magically cleared, and it’s just the two of them in the diner.

Bucky spins her out before reeling her into her arms, and Darcy transmogrifies her jeans and sweater into a blood red dress. For added effect, she puts Bucky in a dark suit with a matching tie.

He gives her a look as he leads them off in a tango.  “What? If you’re going to do something, do it well,” she says, grinning at him.

They dance, feet and legs sinuously twisting in and out of the other person’s.  In the final bars of the song, Bucky spins Darcy in a complicated move, around his body and then his braced leg, ending with Darcy posed around his angle.  With a firm hand, he pulls her back up, and the song ends with Darcy and Bucky close together, one of her legs wrapped over his hip and his bionic arm against her back, holding her very close.

There is a moment of hesitation, the demon and the man staring into each other’s eyes.  Bucky’s gaze darts to her mouth, and Darcy holds herself so still that she doesn’t even breathe.  

Bucky’s mouth quirks up, in just the barest hint of the seductive smile he was once renowned across three boroughs for.  He leans forward and kisses Darcy with the uncertainty of a man with his heart (and soul) on the line.

Darcy melts into his embrace, but keeps just enough of her wits about her to use the kiss as a key.  She knows it works because after a moment, Bucky breaks the kiss with a gasp.

“Th-thank you,” he stutters, gratitude shining out of his eyes.

Darcy kisses the tip of his nose.  “No, thank  _ you _ .” 

And with a flash and a bang, she disappears, and Bucky is left standing in the middle of a crowded diner, right in the path of an impatient waitress with a full tray of food.

“I never even got her name,” he murmurs as the annoyed waitress brushes past him.  He throws a ten on his table to cover his bill and leaves the diner, a man on a mission to finally, truly reunite with his best friend.

* * *

A few days later, Bucky, Steve, Sam, Clint and Natasha are lazing about in the media room, some football game playing on the oversized TV.  Clint, Sam, and surprisingly Natasha are trash talking the refs while Steve sketches and Bucky chows down on a BLT.

Thor comes into the room with two petite women in tow.  “Meet my comrades!” Thor tells the two women proudly, making a sweeping gesture towards everyone else.

“Nice to see y’all again,” Clint smirks.

“Nice to see you ditched the jack booted thugs,” one of the women shoots back, in a voice that is very familiar to Bucky. “I told you they were evil. I could smell it.”

The other woman nods.  “It’s true.  She has a nose for evil. And bacon.”

“Speaking of…” the first woman says, coming from behind Thor to sprawl like a cat across the back of the couch.  Before Bucky can react, she has stolen half of his BLT and taken a big bite out of it.

“Um, Darcy?” Clint says warningly.  “Maybe not antagonize the new assassin until after you’ve been introduced?”

Bucky just smiles, and holds up his mug of coffee.  Darcy - he finally has a name to go with the voice and the face - obligingly taps the rim, and it refills.  Bucky takes a sip and tastes more whiskey than coffee.

He coughs.  “Next time, make it Bailey’s, would ya?”

She huffs and slides off the back of the couch into his lap.  “So ungrateful, after all I’ve done,” she says dramatically before taking another huge bite of sandwich.

“You ate all my bacon!” he exclaims laughingly.

“That’s the price of doing business with me,” she says around her mouthful of food.

“I thought the dance was the price. And chew with your mouth closed,” he chides, sounding terribly like Steve’s ma.

She rolls her eyes. “Think of the bacon as...a gratuity. For a job well done, or what-the-hell-ever.”

Bucky snorts, and sips his coffee.

“Do they know each other?” Sam hisses at Steve in what is possibly the loudest whisper known to man.

Darcy turns and looks at Sam.  “Biblically,” she says with a wink.  She turns back to Bucky.  “Gotta run.  Souls to steal, angelic plans to disrupt. Y’know.” With another flash and a bang, she disappears.

Bucky leans towards the coffee table to grab his plate, only to find that she’d stolen the other half of his sandwich.  “Son of a bitch,” he swears, shaking his head.

“More like spawn of Satan,” the second woman says with a laugh as she comes to stand by the arm of the couch.  “I’m Dr. Jane Foster, by the way,” she says, holding out a hand.  “I’m assuming you’ve done a deal with Darcy before?”

Bucky shakes her hand and then taps his forehead.  “What about you?”

Jane gives him a truly devious grin.  “Cheating boyfriend. Cost me three bottles of champagne and an internship, but it was well worth the price.”

“Um, not to interrupt or anything, but what?” Sam says incredulously.

Jane turns to face the rest of the room.  “Demons are real, they have no concept of personal space and truly abysmal taste in music, and will steal literally every piece of bacon in your possession if given half an opportunity.”

Darcy pops back in the room, landing on Bucky’s lap again.  “Hey! It’s not my fault if every car stereo I’m around only plays Queen.”

Bucky just leans back and wraps an arm around Darcy’s waist.

Jane sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.  “Darcy, it is  _ literally  _ your fault the Pinz only plays ‘Fat-Bottomed Girls’ now.”

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,” Darcy says snootily.

“Inconceivable,” Natasha interjects.

“Yaaaaas girl,” Darcy yells, twisting to give the spy an excited smile.  “Wanna watch it?”

Natasha shrugs, which Darcy takes as a yes.  Darcy turns to face the TV, blinks slowly, and then settles back in Bucky’s lap.  The game turns off, and the opening credits to a movie Bucky doesn’t know starts up.

“Comfortable?” Bucky asks, looking down at the lapful of demon he’s somehow acquired.

Darcy snaps her fingers, clicks her tongue, and wiggles her nose.  A ridiculously fluffy blanket drapes over them, a mug of coffee appears in Darcy’s hand, and Bucky finds that his jeans and boots have been changed into sweatpants and thick socks.

“Um, Bucky? You okay?” Steve says hesitantly, looking over at his newly-regained friend.

“He’s mine now,” Darcy says before Bucky can respond to Steve.

Bucky looks at Steve and nods.  “Is that so?” Bucky then says, looking down and smiling at Darcy.  

She nods at him over the rim of her coffee mug.

“Well,” Bucky says, “...it’s gonna cost ya.”

Darcy blinks, and a new BLT appears on his plate.

“Oh no. She gave him bacon,” Jane whispers.

“Wuv, twu wuv,” Clint recites.


End file.
